


It's just chemistry, right?

by talmaa



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: A Tiny Supernatural Element, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, POV Rick Grimes mostly, Rickyl, Smut, The Greene Farm (Walking Dead), season two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:08:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 122,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24036370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talmaa/pseuds/talmaa
Summary: A long marriage and an even longer friendship should withstand anything -- even apocalypse. Right?Ever since Rick woke up to a shitty new world, things he’d trusted his whole life have started crumbling down. In the middle of people turning into walkers, and people turning on people, is it possible to find anything good anymore? New friends? New relationships?With a new disaster crashing into them every day, is there any time left to build new things?Time: Roughly from episode 2.05 “Chupacabra” onwards. Even though the main plot points somewhat follow the second season canon plot (until they really don’t anymore…), I have taken a few liberties in what order I put certain things.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes
Comments: 175
Kudos: 294





	1. Elements

**Author's Note:**

> The original plan was to have 15 chapters, published three times a week. Well, the schedule held until the last two chapters, and 22 ended up as the final chapter count. SO close ;)  
> Other: Forget everything about the canonical Greene house… the lay-out is very different in this fic. Sorry about that!

The last rays of sunshine brushed Rick’s hands, glinted off the ring on his finger. He was sitting on the porch of Hershel’s house, alone for once. He shifted and leaned more heavily on the porch post. After the drama earlier that day, he had some thinking to do.

He didn’t know when he’d first felt it. He’d noticed something flicker at the edge of his conscious mind for some time now, but to be honest, it’d been easy enough to ignore the strange feelings. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had other things on his mind. Waking up to a Night of the Living Dead, for example. Finding his family like a freak accident, only because he’d trapped himself in a tank, and some guy -- a kid, almost -- had taken it upon himself to save Rick’s ass. Figuring out the situation between his wife and his best friend only a few days after being reunited with them. 

What with random guys sawing off their hands, zombies chomping away at his group members, someone taking potshots at Carl, trying to keep Shane together, Shane with his slow meltdown...Well, it was a miracle he’d noticed the odd sparks at all. 

His feelings were so numb these days. If someone had asked if he loved Lori, he would’ve said yes, of course he would’ve, she was his wife after all. But did he really? He couldn’t get a firm hold on that feeling of _love_ anymore, not like he had before; and by _before_ he didn’t mean before the Romero movie had taken over the world. No, there had been problems much earlier, eating away at the reservoir of love, until what was left was more of a skeleton of family feelings. Would Rick have left Lori? Hell no. Family was important, you didn’t break up something like that simply because you didn’t _feel like it_ anymore. 

So when it finally did break through the barrier of walkers and relationship problems and trying to be in seven places all at once, it made him frown. _I don’t need any more shit,_ he thought, and damped down the uninvited sparks. But they kept on coming, kept on adding to the confusion, and if he’d only known what to do to make them stop, he would’ve done it -- he would’ve done anything.

Well, not **_anything_**. ‘Anything’ would’ve meant driving away the person who was causing the confusion -- unintentionally, no doubt about it, but causing it nevertheless. But just like you don’t leave the mother of your child simply because you don’t love her like you used to, you don’t risk the whole group by driving away the most capable member simply because you feel some weird sparks around him. Wouldn’t be fair to the person in question, either, and Rick valued fairness.

Rick leaned his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands. Sometimes he wished he smoked. He’d heard it was soothing. Lethal too, but what with the recent changes in life expectancy, he’d rather take the calm nerves right now. The sun disappeared behind the woods surrounding Hershel’s farm. The twilight was quiet and peaceful -- _wouldn’t last, obviously_ , he thought grimly, _there was always something_ \-- and he decided to sort out this stupid thing.

Probably the first time it had happened, they’d been searching for Merle. Daryl’s angry eyes had drilled into his, burning and uncertain and defensive and so fucking furious. “ _Get your hands off me!”_ he’d growled, and Rick had been glad to do just that, because the touch had tingled on his palm and he hadn’t got why. He’d brushed it off as just some random thing. But it happened again, and again, and not just because of random touches -- just sensing the observant, alert blue eyes on him made him feel...funny -- and it couldn’t be ignored anymore. So here he was, trying to think it through. 

He didn’t want to, really, for the abovementioned reasons. He had plenty of other stuff to figure out, thanks ever so much. But the recent development had jolted him out of the numbness pretty hard, so maybe it was time to get it over and done with.

Seeing Daryl fall down, hearing the shot, had struck him to the core. _We’re all dead_ , had flashed through his mind. A desperate flicker, like all hope had vanished from them all, just because they’d lost the gruff, dirty, bristly archer. Logically, Rick had known that wasn’t the case. Not like he or Shane or Glenn weren’t capable enough. But in a way that was completely incomprehensible, unexplainable, illogical, the presence of the reticent younger Dixon had become a reassuring factor. Like all their backs were covered simply because the watchful man was always _there_.

Why he’d stuck with them, Rick had no idea. _You don’t owe us anything_ , he’d said to Daryl; pretty much on the contrary, as because of them Daryl had lost his brother. But he didn’t leave, he looked for Sophia harder than anyone, and took care of Carol in his own way. And as a thank you for that, he’d been shot by a group member. Yeah, he definitely didn’t owe them anything at all.

Andrea’s shot hadn’t been lethal, to Rick’s huge relief. But when he’d dragged the man up and put his arm around him, Shane on the other side, and he’d felt the hunter’s head on his shoulder, Daryl’s feverish, hot body slumped against his, there it’d been again. The goddamn spark. Too strong to ignore this time. 

Then later, Hershel had been patching him up and the man had lain on the bed leaning on his elbow, bare torso all clean now because Hershel had also taken care of that. Rick had sat on his knees by the bed, a map of sorts between the two men, and Daryl had described where he’d found the doll. Rick had been flustered, hadn’t known where to settle his eyes. All that naked male skin… why had he reacted to it like this? 

Daryl’s gaze had darted to Rick, the map, the walls, to Shane sitting behind Rick, and then back to Rick, only to begin the whole route all over again. Every time the restless eyes had met Rick’s, he’d had to concentrate hard on not flinching. The archer rarely looked anyone in the eyes, and Rick thought it was a good thing. The man was withdrawn, reticent, solitary -- only spoke when he felt he had something that needed saying. But the eyes saw everything. 

Rick rubbed his stubble. He didn’t get the sparks. He’d never been interested in guys, not like that. Ok, so his eyes had wandered a bit when he was a teenager, back in high school locker rooms, but that was normal, right? Everyone went through a phase like that, right? Soon after, he’d started dating Lori, and his eyes had stayed firmly on her ever since. Hell, it wasn’t like there’d been a shortage of good-looking guys after high school -- the police academy was full of trained muscle. But because of Lori, Rick never looked at other women, or men either. That was just the way he was.

So what had changed?

 _It’s just chemistry. Can’t be responsible for that, and besides, it doesn’t mean anything._ So what if Rick’s fingers tingled when he clapped another man on the shoulder? _It’s nothing serious, and it’ll pass. Too many other things going on now, gotta stay focused._

He heard voices from the house, footsteps coming nearer. The others were coming out, heading for the tents to get some sleep. 

_It’s nothing, ok. Just stay focused. Concentrate._

He fucked Lori that night. They were married, so weren’t they supposed to, right? Lori went along with it but he knew that her thoughts were divided. Not necessarily all _elsewhere_ , just divided. He didn’t know what to do to make this better. Should he confront her? Maybe hope it would all blow over and they’d be normal again? _But I don’t love her, do I?_ his thoughts nagged. He shook his head. _Love’s neither here nor there. Together we’re stronger, and that’s what family is all about, at least in this new world._

Except he wasn’t sure about the **_stronger_** part, not with him and Lori. He felt **_weaker_** with her, not stronger.

Sleep eluded him. He listened to Lori’s deep breathing and Carl’s faint snores, and finally fell asleep through a web of words...

...sparks kindling --- heat stirring --- bonds weakening rusting decaying --- forces swirling burning scorching....

_...Corrosion, decomposition. Catalysis, combustion._

_...Fire._

***

The next afternoon he ambled to the house to check on Daryl. He was part of his little group, Rick wanted to know how he was faring. The hunter wasn’t in his room, though; Maggie told him he’d left in the morning. “Muttering about not wanting to be a burden,” she said, amused.

So Rick hiked to Daryl’s tent, and saw Andrea come out, still looking abashed when she nodded hello to Rick. The leader stepped in and saw the archer lying on the cot, one hand behind his head, the other one holding a blade of grass he was slowly chewing. 

Something flipped in Rick’s belly. Daryl met his eyes, the expression somehow managing to be relaxed and piercing all at once, and the ‘something’ flipped again. _This is not ok._

“Whatcha want?” asked the gruff voice.

“What I want is for you to get better. We need you healthy and up an’ about sooner rather than later.”

“Whatcha need me _for_?”

Daryl’s voice was curious, and his blue eyes were locked with Rick’s. Rick was baffled by the question. Nobody gets stuck on that word. It’s just something you _say_. The silence held, and with each passing second the frown on Daryl’s forehead became more noticeable and his eyes lost their alertness. To Rick’s surprise, there was a slight hint of sadness.

Daryl curled his lip scornfully. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna be lookin’ for Sophia an’ huntin’ an’ bein’ ever so useful to ya soon enough.”

Now it was Rick’s turn to frown. He looked around but there was no chair to sit down. He sat on the edge of the cot and turned to look at the younger man.

“I didn’t mean needing in that sense. I’m sorry if I offended you. I meant you’re an important part of our group and we need you there with us. Not because you’re very good at some things but simply ‘cause you’re one of us.” Rick tried a smile and a feeble joke. “Not that it’s not a great bonus that you’re so good with trackin’ and huntin’ and stuff.” 

The furrow on Daryl’s face became less deep and a bit of the sadness faded from his eyes, and suddenly Rick realized how much of an outsider the hunter may have felt all this time. He thought back to Merle, back to everything he’d seen and heard of Daryl during the past few weeks, and it was clear as day that the concept of ‘social acceptance’ hadn’t been high on their list of shared experiences. And yes, Rick had seen the wounds on Daryl’s back, had noticed the brief look of compassion on Hershel’s face before it was replaced by an impassive mask of professionalism.

“You know that everybody here respects you?”

Daryl snorted so hard the grass blade flew out of his mouth. Rick had to smile; he knew exactly what the other man was thinking.

“Yeah, well… there have been words, I know, and more from some of us than others…” Another snort. “...but I meant what I said. Shane can be an ass and say all sorts of things, but he recognizes talent when he sees it.” He paused. “And people really like you too.”

“You’re killin’ me here, I ain’t supposed to laugh. Hershel will be pissed at ya when my stitches pop.”

Rick chuckled. He kept his eyes on Daryl’s face, saw his lips curl not in a sneer but in a small, almost unwilling, smile. The ‘something’ in his belly squirmed, and he shushed it. _Not the time. Not cool. Not ok._

“You know Carol likes you. Glenn likes you. Dale… well, I know you’re a bit much for his sensibilities but he does think you’re a decent guy. Carl thinks you’re cool. Hershel likes you even though he did not appreciate you taking his horse without asking him first. Andrea was crushed when she realized she’d shot you.”

Daryl’s eyes never left his. “Why’re you doin’ this? An’ dontcha think I didn’t notice a few names missin’ from the list.”

_He’s different. Not much but it’s there -- more calm somehow. I wonder what really happened with the accident._

“Some names are missing ‘cause I really don’t know one way or the other what the Greene girls think of you. Or Jimmy or Patricia. T-Dog seems to have stopped flinching around you so that’s a good sign,” Rick heard a low rumble and realized it was Daryl laughing quietly, “but yeah, it’ll probably take some more time for Shane or Lori to really warm up to you.” Rick shrugged. “Can’t please everyone. Sometimes the most you can hope for is basic courtesy and a decent level of respect.”

A snort, again. “When’s the last time somebody didn’t like **_you_** , Officer Friendly?”

“Well, there was this one guy in Atlanta, name’s Merle…”

Rick wondered if the joke was in poor taste but Daryl’s huff was amused. And now Rick noticed one glaring absence from the list. With the sparks and the things squirming in his belly it made Rick feel self-conscious; nevertheless, he scolded himself. He had somehow ended up the appointed leader of this ragtag group, and if he omitted to mention his likes or dislikes, after mentioning everyone else, it would be near insulting.

“Why am I doing this? Because my name’s also on the list of people who respect and like you. I know we didn’t start out in the best of circumstances but I’ve really grown to trust you, and I want you to feel comfortable in the group. It’s important to me. We’re mismatched as it is, and I need everyone to start feeling more at home with each other. There’s safety in numbers, but only if we all pull together, not apart.”

Rick had finally dragged his gaze away from the man, letting his eyes drift around the tent as he spoke. Daryl said nothing but Rick felt his eyes boring into him. He turned his head towards the hunter; Daryl lifted his arm on his eyes and muttered, “Need to sleep, man… Hershel’s orders, an’ I ain’t brave enough to make him angry at me.”

Rick knew when he was being dismissed, so he stood up and walked out. He wasn’t sure what to think about Daryl’s reaction; most likely it was that the man just wasn’t used to hearing good things about himself. Rick was never shy with giving positive feedback and he thought it was high time for Daryl to start getting used to being appreciated. He congratulated himself on having kept the tingles and stuff in check. He needed to keep his mind clear. God only knew when the next disaster would hit.

***

It hit the next day, during lunch. Everyone was together under the trees; Daryl had joined them too, he sat gingerly in a camp chair a little further than anyone else, but closer than before. Rick listened to Carl’s babble and strained to smile at Lori, when he heard Glenn clear his throat and awkwardly raise his voice. 

“Um, guys… The barn is full of walkers.”

Everyone went a little crazy. Some more than others. For example Shane… Rick didn’t know how to feel about Shane. To have guessed the truth about him and Lori was one thing, to actually hear it… to hear that Lori was pregnant -- and was she crazy to think he’d buy for a second that she wasn’t sure which one was the father? He may not’ve been great with the theory of reproductive biology but even he could count, and there simply hadn’t been enough days between this and when he’d found them for him to be the father. Nevertheless, maybe he could’ve learned to accept it but Shane sure didn’t make it easy. His reaction to the barnful of walkers a shining example of it -- the shouts, the rage, the way he antagonized people around him; even when he was sort of talking sense, he could only see his own point of view, and to hell with anyone else.

And everyone seemed to be bickering. Glenn and Maggie, Dale and Shane, Daryl and Shane, Andrea and Dale. Carl was acting up, and even Carol and Daryl seemed to have gone through some sort of a tiff. Seemed like the only thing he was doing was running here and there trying to keep people from punching each other. 

It was almost funny, to think that only a little over a week ago he’d thought that _Daryl_ was the liability, the unstable one, the uncontrollable redneck -- sparks or no sparks, that was what he’d thought, and sworn to keep an eye on the man. It had been, what?, a day after that, and he’d already started to name Daryl in charge of situations where their group had had to split up. And now, the redneck was no longer the liability, no, he’d actually started to be the _stabilizing_ factor. Suddenly, it was Rick’s lifelong best friend who had become the uncontrollable risk to their whole group. 

_Isn’t it funny what the end of the world brings out in people?_

He slept poorly that night. Lori was restless, tried to touch him, but he couldn’t bring himself to return the half-hearted caresses. He tried to figure out a way out of this mess, it was his duty, right? And he didn’t exactly have anyone to ask for advice. He knew what Dale would say, but Dale was the lone, dogged voice of unrelenting humanity. Shane… Shane’s way of thinking would get them kicked out of this farm. Lori wouldn’t offer her opinion, would only look at him and say “whatever you think is best” which was no kind of help at all, especially when Lori’s eyes betrayed her, let out the pain and doubt and fear.

He fell asleep thinking he might go to Daryl some time next day, but in the morning, the man was somewhere with Carol, and then the time ran out. A few moments of deafening gunshots, growls of walkers going quiet one by one, and suddenly it went silent, the echoes of the shots still vibrating in Rick’s head. And just as he’d thought it could NOT go more to hell, it did, because then it was Sophia who growled her way out of the barn. 

All thought vanished from his head. He stood there, incapable of moving. He heard Carol’s wail, and dimly noticed Daryl holding her, his biceps bulging so she must’ve been fighting like hell to get to her daughter. 

Sophia stumbled forward, teeth bared. T-Dog and Glenn stared at her, rifles hanging from their hands like so much useless metal. A sarcastic voice whispered in Rick’s head _Where’s the brave shooter-Shane, Shane the go-getter, Shane the Equalizer, where’s he now when the shit really hits the fan?_ Rick moved his eyes from the creature that used to be a sweet little girl to his old friend; Shane was just as thrown as the others, hands gripping the rifle so hard his fingers had turned white. No-one was doing anything -- except Daryl who had his hands full with a crying, desperately struggling mother. The hunter’s eyes darted back and forth between the lone walker and his rifle, but Rick knew he couldn’t risk letting go of Carol long enough to do what had to be done.

He still couldn’t think. He just knew. _Shane likes to pull things down, but not so much getting his hands dirty with the clean-up._ His mind was blank, the horror of the job at hand was too much; he stepped forward and finished what the end of the world had started.

And then, less than 24 hours later, came the case Randall. More shouting, more disagreement. Rick felt like his shoulders were going to give up any minute. The weight of it all... The job of sheriff’s deputy hadn’t prepared him for this. Sure, the whole thing in the town had been par for the course: talk a person down from drinking himself to stupor, deal with suspicious characters, including the probing questions and evasive answers and ending up in the unfortunate shoot-out -- check, check, check. What he hadn’t been prepared for, however, was Randall, and the snap decision he’d made to save the young man’s life, and the consequences of said decision.

It hadn’t all been bad. When they’d come back from the town, for the briefest of moments he’d felt something like connection to Lori. There’d been real concern in Lori’s eyes, and he had been genuinely shaken to see her hurt, and a feeble flutter of hope had stirred in Rick’s heart. But then the evening happened, him and Lori in their tent, and he didn’t know if he’d ever be the same man again. 

It had started innocuously enough. “We have to talk about Shane,” she’d said. He’d assured Lori that Shane would come around, he’d understand that he’d need to back off. 

Lori wouldn’t accept it. She’d gone on and on, and finally she’d wrapped her arms around his bare torso and pressed herself tight against his back, lowered her voice. “You killed the living to protect what's yours? Shane thinks I'm his. He thinks the baby's his. And he says you can't protect us. That you're gonna get us killed. He's dangerous, Rick. And he won't stop.”

In high school he’d seen a school production of Macbeth. He now had his very own Lady Macbeth here, whispering things in his ear, trying to pave way to ideas, trying to plant seeds. Oh, she was good, but Rick knew her, he heard the calculation in her voice.

In a way Lori was right, of course. Something had to be done with Shane. Not like that, though, the mere idea was an abomination to Rick. This was his oldest friend ( _note that you’re not saying_ **_best_ ** _friend anymore_ , whispered the snide voice in his head), Shane could be reasoned with, it would just take some time.

But the fact that his wife could… Rick didn’t want to think about it.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The Walking Dead and its wonderful cast of characters are not mine. I just play with them for fun :) I have inserted (more or less direct) quotes from the show here and there in the story. Test your expertise by finding them all! ;)  
> -English is not my first language so apologies for any and all mistakes.  
> -Thank you, my lovely beta, my wonderful friend, for the great job you did, for all the times you asked "but why..?", and for your infinite patience in pointing out the mess I made with grammatical tenses.


	2. Interaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Friday, and close to 2 pm (where I live) -- a good time to publish the second chapter. Enjoy, and have a great weekend :)

The next morning Rick headed out right after breakfast. Took his gun and a knife and just walked into the woods. He didn’t want anyone near him, didn’t want to hear the constant whining and doubting and questioning, didn’t want to have to lay eyes on Lori. It wasn’t like he’d asked to be the leader, it had just happened somehow. He hadn’t noticed anyone else eager to take the job -- no, it was always so much more fun to nag about the bosses than to actually try to be one.

But as long as he felt it was his duty to hold that position, he would do his damndest to keep them all alive. He just needed a fucking MINUTE alone first. 

“Hey.” A soft, low voice on his right. Rick’s heart nearly stopped before he realized it was the archer. _Goddamn he’s silent. No wonder he’s such a good hunter._

“‘s not a good idea to come here alone. I should know,” Daryl said quietly, quirking the corner of his mouth just a bit in a tiny self-deprecating smile.

Rick leaned his back against a tree and looked down. It wasn’t just the constant demands from everyone, it wasn’t just Lori -- it was the constant fucking **_noise_ ** they were all making. Creating a never-ending buzz of bickering and questions which he couldn’t damp down. He was tired, ‘s all.

Minutes went by, and finally Rick raised his head and looked at the other man. Daryl was leaning his shoulder on a tree, relaxed and alert, eyes taking in everything around them but always returning back to Rick. 

The leader was surprised to notice that Daryl’s presence didn’t bother him at all; the silence was comfortable. At the same moment, it occurred to him that it had been like that from the very beginning, even on that unpleasant trip to Atlanta -- silence with Daryl didn’t crave noise to fill it, and neither did it mean there was nothing to say. It was the kind of a rare silence that removed the urgency to talk and gave more space to observe and listen.

Their eyes were locked for a moment. Rick gave a tiny nod and started to walk again -- no particular destination in mind. Daryl fell into step by his side like there was nothing odd about trampling through woods without any reason.

Half an hour went by, and each minute took away some of the weight on Rick’s shoulders. His mind cleared a bit, and it felt as if his lungs took in air easier than before. He glanced at the other man. Shane would never have survived thirty minutes of silence. Daryl glanced back at him and cocked his eyebrow.

“Wanna take a break?” he asked.

Rick nodded.

“We’re near the place where I fell. We could go down there, it’s pretty sheltered.”

Twenty minutes later they were sitting on a log, enjoying the peaceful view. Rick eyed the steep cliff.

“Still can’t believe you climbed that with a concussion and a bolt wound in your side.” He grinned. “That’s pretty badass.”

The tips of Daryl’s ears took on a red shimmer. Rick grinned again. The guy really couldn’t handle a compliment.

“Nah… didn’t have a choice, did I? Wasn’t gonna stay down here an’ die.”

_There’s something in his voice…_

“You’ve seemed different since you came back,” Rick blurted out. “Did something else happen here?”

Daryl avoided Rick’s eyes and fiddled with his crossbow.

“Sorta yeah,” he mumbled, so low that Rick barely heard him. “And sorta no. I guess I hit my head pretty bad. Thought I… saw something.” He glanced at Rick quickly. “I know it wasn’t real but it got me thinkin’.”

“What did you think you saw?”

“Merle.”

“Hunh. Ok. And Merle got you thinking?”

Daryl huffed. “That surprise ya?”

Rick had to smile. “Sorry, that came out wrong. So, this Merle talked to you?”

Daryl’s eyes wandered on the cliffs, and Rick had way too much time to let his gaze rest on the other man’s profile, his messy hair, the way the corner of his eye crinkled when he focused on something. Something squirmed in his belly again, and Rick told it to fuck off. He had enough problems as it was.

“It wasn’t Merle, though. He said all sorts of things but it wasn’t him, so where did it all come from?”

“Your subconscious.”

Daryl nodded. “That’s what I figured. Had time to think about it when Hershel was breathin’ down my neck, keepin’ me tied up to the bed, orderin’ me around…”

“Wanna tell me about it?”

To Rick’s surprise, a faint flush appeared on Daryl’s cheek.

“Nah. Weird stuff goin’ on in my head. No reason you need to hear it.”

Rick tilted his head and tried to reach Daryl’s gaze.

“But what if I **_want_ **to? It could be good for you, to talk about it, and I’d get to know you better.”

Daryl’s ears were on fire now.

“Nah. Maybe some other time.”

Rick nodded. He didn’t want to push the hunter too much, it was a wonder he’d got this much out of him.

Daryl turned the tables on him.

“Why did ya go out alone? What’s with that? Ya know it’s not safe, an’ ya got a kid an’ all.”

Rick said nothing. He’d wanted to have someone to talk to, and now that Daryl was here, he didn’t know what to say.

Daryl shifted. Rick felt the other man tense up -- felt it even though they were sitting a foot apart.

“‘s ok, you don’t hafta answer. Sorry I asked.”

Shit. “No, I wanna answer. Just...dunno where to start.” Rick ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated. “Don’t you sometimes want to just get away from everybody?”

Daryl snorted. “Most of the time. Ya think it’s by accident my tent is so far away from y’all?”

Rick gave him a faint smile. “I’d ask you if you want some company there but that would kinda defeat the purpose.” He felt the other man relax a bit and saw the corner of his mouth twitch upwards.

Rick went on. “Everybody’s looking for answers and acting as if I were the one to give them. And when I do, they complain about them. Especially...” He paused.

“Shane.”

“Yeah. Shane. Don’t know what to do with that.”

Daryl turned to look at him, and Rick knew.

“I figure you already know about him and Lori.” That wasn’t even a question.

Daryl kept his eyes steady, and after a few seconds gave a tiny, abrupt nod.

“How long have you known?”

“Since the quarry. They thought they were so freakin’ discreet, but a guy who spends a lot of time trackin’ stuff in the woods ‘s bound to see what he don’t exactly wanna see.”

“You think I’m a fool, staying with her now?”

Daryl shrugged his shoulder. “Ain’t my place to think one way or the other.”

Rick looked at him carefully. “But you do think something. I can see that. Come on, I’m not gonna be mad.”

Daryl glanced at him. “I think those two deserve each other. You...deserve somethin’ better. But I get it. She’s still your wife and Carl’s mom. I just…” He threaded his fingers through his hair.

“Don’t get all shy on me now.”

“...just think you don’t hafta do everythin’ she says. It’s like… you’re tryin’ to make somethin’ up to her when it should be the other way around if ya ask me.”

Rick was amused. Truth to tell, it felt oddly good to hear someone talk like this. Daryl glanced at him again, hesitant, not quite sure how the leader would take his words. He saw Rick smile at him; he snorted.

“You’re weird, y’know. Aren’t ya supposed to punch me for speakin’ out of line?”

Rick clapped him on the shoulder. “Nah. I like that you speak your mind.” He stood up. “Now let’s get back.”

***

The next day was Monday, according to Hershel’s calendar, and there was some more shouting about Randall. The boy wasn’t fit enough yet to go anywhere but they held another meeting about him. They’d take him out on Tuesday, fifteen miles at least, and leave him there. All the relaxation from the hike in the woods was gone, and Rick was again bone-weary. He was the first one to leave the house, didn’t give anyone another glance, and headed off into the woods.

Ten minutes in, the hunter joined him without a word. They didn’t talk until they were at the cliffs again.

“You tryin’ to lose me or what? You could just say you’re goin’ out. Don’t hafta be me to come with ya, but you should say somethin’ to someone. Andrea wouldn’t mind comin’ out here. Or maybe T-Dog.” Daryl’s tone was faintly scolding.

“You’re the only one I can stand being around,” Rick said bluntly. 

They climbed down and sat on the log.

“I’m going with Shane tomorrow,” Rick said, his eyes on the cliffs.

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“I need you here to keep an eye on things. Right now, I don’t trust Shane enough, to be honest. Don’t know what he’d get into his head with me gone. And I might get a chance to talk with him, get some things out in the open.”

Daryl repeated the question. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

The corners of Rick’s mouth quirked into a joyless little smile. “Not **_sure_**. But it has to be done, and tomorrow’s as good a time as any. Might go easier with just him and me.” He went silent for a long time.

“Whatcha thinkin’? You’re all sombre an’ shit.”

“I’m thinkin’ I’ve been with Lori for over two decades. I’m thinkin’ I’ve known Shane almost twice that time. He’s been my best friend since kindergarten, through high school and academy, and then we worked as partners for years. So tell me, how the hell did it end up like this? How is it even possible that he’s now the person I trust the **_least_**? -- and my wife’s a close second on that list. How is it that when I listen to my wife whisper all kinds of things in my ear, I think of Lady Macbeth and want to puke? Isn’t this supposed to be us against the dead, instead of us against each other?”

Rick turned to look at Daryl whose blue eyes were already on him.

“And how is it that the person I’m talking about this stuff isn’t my oldest and best friend, but a guy I’ve known barely two weeks and who started out throwing dead squirrels at me and me putting a gun to his head?”

Daryl smiled lopsidedly. “A deputy, a redneck, and ten dead squirrels… Sounds like the start of a lame joke.”

Rick gave a quick smile. “Thanks,” he simply said.

“For what?”

“For listening. For being here. For being pretty much the only person I can talk to these days without wanting to hit something. Or someone. I only hope I can be even half as good a friend back to you.”

There it was again, the slight crimson shimmer on the tips of Daryl’s ears.

***

Rick didn’t know why he was surprised the trip with Shane and Randall went to hell. Why on earth had he expected it to be just a regular drop-off, with some fruitful discussion with Shane? When’s the last time things had worked out just like that?

Lori had been suitably horrified when she saw both of them with cuts in their faces, with blood splatters on their clothes. It had been easy to chalk it all up to the walker incident; she’d bought it, or simply chosen to buy it. _That would depend on how callous she’s become...maybe she’d be glad to see us fight over her, like dogs over a bone. Maybe she’d wished that one of us hadn’t come back._

Daryl had come out of the house soon after. Rick had seen his eyes narrow and dart from Rick to Shane and back. The archer had fought walkers, been in fist fights -- there was no fooling him.

They had just time enough to clean up before the meeting where Rick informed the others that they’d need to rethink Randall’s fate. That letting him go wasn’t simple any more; the boy had let slip he knew Maggie, knew where they lived.

They’d sleep on it, talk about the remaining options tomorrow. Shane barged out first, then most of the others; Hershel’s family scattered deeper into the house. Lori lingered on a bit, trying to catch Rick’s eye, but he kept his gaze firmly on his hands, gripping the back of a chair, leaning on it. He heard her go out, and the room was silent. Rick was almost sure he was alone...except...

“If ya gonna head out again, do we still hafta pretend I don’t notice?” Daryl’s tone was half amused, half warning.

Rick straightened his back and looked over his shoulder at the hunter who was leaning on the wall, twiddling with a cigarette. Rationally, Rick knew nothing had changed, he still had a mountain of problems -- but he felt lighter somehow, more grounded. Like he wasn’t alone in this anymore. It seemed he had this scruffy, scowling, surly redneck on his side, and it was as if it gave him a solid surface to stand on. _Who’d’ve thought?_

“Looks like I can’t outrun you,” he said, smiling. 

This time, people saw them leave. Rick felt Shane’s eyes on him, sensed the calculation and mistrust, and for a second he wished he had the luxury to weep over the death of one of the closest relationships he’d ever had. And who knew how soon he’d have a reason to cry over another close relationship. 

Daryl led them to the dilapidated house he’d once thought had been Sophia’s hiding place. They sat on the porch, enjoying the peace and quiet. 

Rick sighed. “We need to question that kid again. We need to know more about his group. How much of a threat they’d really be.” He rubbed his temples. “It’ll probably end up in an execution. Not really looking forward to it. He’s just a kid.”

“It don’t have to be you.”

“Yeah it does. If I’m the leader, then I have to be the one. That kind of an act...I can’t put it on anyone else’s shoulders.” He smiled grimly. “Shane’ll probably want to handle the interrogation. Don’t really wanna let him loose on anyone right now but he always was better at questioning than I was.”

Daryl searched his pockets, found a cigarette and lit it. He inhaled, held his breath, and exhaled a steady stream of smoke. “I can do it.”

Rick turned to look at him, wordless.

Daryl chuckled. “Shane’s not the only one who can do bat-shit crazy. An’ if that ain’t enough to get Randall to talk, I’ve got other skills. Merle taught me well, an’ my dad… let’s say I’ve learned the hard way what kind of stuff hurts like a bitch.”

Rick couldn’t help it; his face let out a tiny twinge of disgust. Daryl’s chuckles died out.

“Ya don’t need to look at me like that. Didn’t say I _liked_ the idea. Just said I’m _able_ to do it. An’ you wouldn’t hafta worry about me goin’ crazy, like, for real.”

Daryl went on. “Look, I get it. I didn’t much care for the justice system we had before all this -- never did me any favors. But you’re, like, a _good_ cop, I think. Shane, I dunno what he _was_ but now… shit, better if I shut up, he’s still your friend. Dale, he’s too soft, but like him, I think you’d like to give the boy a chance, at least something resemblin’ a fair trial. But you know we don’t have time for that shit. Shane’s stirrin’ up trouble, makin’ everyone a little crazy. This gotta end tomorrow, one way or the other.”

Rick didn’t think he’d ever heard Daryl talk so much in one go. The sharp blue eyes bored into his, and fuck if chills didn’t stream along his spine, up and down, and he had to fight to force down a visible shiver. _Chemistry’s a bitch, right?_

“Why would you offer…?”

“The group’s broken as it is. Doesn’t need to get even more so. You don’t need that kind of grief, you’ve got enough on your plate. Shane can’t be trusted not to go overboard, an’ you know it. Let me help, ok? I can do more than just track an’ hunt, y’know.”

Rick remembered the hunter stalking around the dead in the Vatos compound. The quiet efficiency of his observations. The man had tenacity, determination and, underneath all the surface grumpiness and temper tantrums, a hefty dose of level-headed cool. 

“I know,” he said quietly. “Don’t like to put you in that position, but you’re right. You could do it, and I’d feel better if it weren’t Shane. You sure? Real sure? I can’t ask you to do this, it could get ugly, and you-”

“I know what I’m offerin’. Ain’t stupid. Ain’t into torturin’ either. But it ain’t good if it’s done by someone who’d **_like_ **doin’ it, right?”

Rick looked at him thoughtfully. 

“Tomorrow morning?”

Daryl nodded. “Tomorrow mornin’.”

  
  



	3. Catalyst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's early afternoon on Monday -- and it's frickin' snowing! I know this is Northern Europe but this is ridiculous, it's May!!  
> *sigh*  
> Anyway, it's time for the third chapter. Enjoy :)

Shane said nothing when Rick informed him of his decision to let Daryl handle the interrogation. He stood under the trees, patiently waiting for Daryl to return. Rick felt awkward standing there with him, but he absolutely did not want the first thing Daryl saw, coming back from a task like that, to be the glaring absence of the one who sent him there in the first place.

The barn door opened, Daryl stepped out wiping his hand on the red rag he always seemed to have with him. The others must have noticed him too; everyone came to wait with Rick and Shane. The silence was heavy.

“Boy there's got a gang, 30 men. They have heavy artillery and they ain't lookin’ to make friends. They roll through here, our boys are dead. And our women, they're... gonna wish they were.”

Rick followed Daryl closely. The leader saw the man flex his fingers and something flicker on his face when he said the last part. 

It was a shock to realize there was no out from this situation, no way other than what would make Rick an executioner. He’d guessed as much, but guessing isn’t the same as knowing. 

He was still trying to get his bearings when Dale stormed upon him, all righteous and judgemental. He gave in, gave Dale some time, but he knew it was only procrastination on his part. He wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere. Lori caught him first, though, engaged him in another futile discussion, not responding to his plea for her opinion. “If you think it’s best.” Did she really think that was **_support_**? He didn’t need fluffy strokes on his head, the empty _there theres_. He needed **_ideas_** , actual calm and measured **_opinions_** … 

He needed someone to have an intelligent and dispassionate conversation with.

And he knew where he’d find just that.

When he got near Daryl’s tent, he noticed Dale returning from there. Daryl walked around the corner of the tent and saw Rick’s approach. The archer lit a cigarette and waited for Rick.

“Dale?”

“Yeah. Dale. Tried to lure me to his way of thinkin’.” Suddenly Daryl grinned. “Said people are lookin’ to me. Said I’ve got your ear.” He chuckled. “Ain’t the kind of stuff I’m used to hearin’.”

“Isn’t much different than what I told you a few days ago. Just goes to show I was right.”

“What? That I’ve ‘got your ear’?” Daryl glanced at him.

“You know you do. In fact, I came here to ask if you’d like to go for a walk with me.”

Their silent trek to the old house gave Rick some much needed time to relax, empty his head for a while. Then he remembered what he’d seen when Daryl had given his report.

“What happened with Randall? I get it that you’d look tense after something like that but it was more than that, am I right?” 

They were sitting side by side on the porch. Daryl leaned his elbows on his knees and hunched forward, laced his fingers. 

“The things he told… They’re bullies and leeches. I don’t particularly like either of those. An’ what he told about when they’d found a camp with a dad and his two teenage daughters… I thought I’d lose it.” He glanced at Rick. “After I’d bragged about keepin’ my cool, I came **_this_ **close to killin’ him myself. Judge, jury, executioner. Could’ve ended it right there.”

Daryl cracked his knuckles. Rick’s gaze drifted over to the other man’s hands. Daryl noticed him looking.

“Yeah, ain’t pretty.” His hands were full of fresh wounds -- the knuckles were angry red. He turned his hands palm up. “Ain’t proud of it.”

Rick knew it was a bad, bad idea the moment his arm started to move. He took Daryl’s hand, turned it knuckles up. He thought Daryl would flinch from the touch for sure, but the hunter’s hand was warm and calm in his. Rick didn’t look up, he kept his eyes on Daryl’s hand.

“Did you show these to Hershel?”

Daryl cleared his throat. “Nah, not worth it, they’ll heal soon enough.”

Rick’s thumb brushed lightly over Daryl’s damaged skin.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you do it.”

“You didn’t **_let_** me do anythin’. You ain’t alone in this. I just did my part.”

Rick took his hand away. His palm wouldn’t stop tingling. _A bad, bad idea._ He looked up; Daryl stared at the hand that had been in Rick’s a second ago.

“I told Dale we’ll have the final meeting at sunset.”

“I’ll be there. An’ Rick…” The hunter finally met his gaze, and his words rolled out almost fiercely. “...you ain’t alone in this. If it comes down to killin’ him, it’s not just you an’ Shane. I’ll be there. An’ if we figure out somethin’ else, I got your back.”

Rick knew the smart thing to do would be to tear his eyes away from the intense blue gaze. Yep, it would definitely be the smart thing. Instead, he asked him the same question he’d asked Lori.

“So… you support my decision?”

Daryl chewed on his lower lip for a while.

“Ain’t crazy about the idea of killin’ a kid. Ain’t crazy about lettin’ him go. We should drive him fifty miles out at least, an’ where’s the extra gas for that, ‘s what I’d like to know. Then again, ain’t crazy about lettin’ him stay either. Don’t particularly feel like huntin’ for scum like that. An’ there’s the security problem as well. He ain’t much to look at but I’m guessin’ he can slit throats with the best of them if he wants to. We ain’t exactly been kind to him.” Daryl still held Rick’s gaze. “What I’m sayin’ is, I figure there’s only bad options available, and any one of them can create a bunch of new problems. So yeah, unless you have a fourth option up your sleeve, I support your decision ‘cause they’re all terrible anyway, an’ frankly, I’m glad it’s you makin’ the decision, not me.”

Rick was drowning in those eyes. That, and the relief of hearing someone acknowledge the impossibility, the complexity, of the decision, made him put his hand on Daryl’s shoulder and squeeze gently.

“Thank you.”

“Whatcha thankin’ me for this time?”

“For getting all this. I don’t have too many people here I can talk with, not like this. Everyone’s either trying to change my mind one way or the other, or not saying anything at all, instead they just **_look_** at me. With you… I feel I can weigh the options in peace and get some rational input at the same time.”

“What’s your wife thinkin’?”

“Hell if I know. All she’s saying is ‘whatever you think is best’, and what am I gonna do with something like that?”

He felt bad almost immediately. “I’m sorry… shouldn’t make you listen to this… ain’t right for me to talk about her like that.”

Daryl’s voice was serious once again. “You’re not **_makin’_** me do anything. Stop thinkin’ you can force me to do anything, man. I’m here ‘cause I **_want_** to be here, an’ if I don’t want to listen, I’ll say so, simple as that.”

They sat on the porch for hours, and left just before the sunset. Rick noticed they walked closer to one another than before. Their shoulders brushed every now and then, and Rick felt a manic giggle bubble inside of him. _This is so fucking ridiculous, this is a goddamn teen movie! What the fuck am I doing holding his hand and getting all tingly walking this close? You’d think my biggest concerns weren’t the living dead and the deadly living! Nooooooo, I’m agonizing and all googly-eyed over a freakin’ redneck. Over someone who’s starting to be a pretty damn good friend. Get over yourself, Grimes…!_

“You ever gonna tell me what the vision-Merle told you?”

Daryl snorted. “Let’s get through this first.”

Everyone was already in the house when they got there. Without a word, Daryl slunk to his usual place and leaned on the wall. Rick had seen him there often enough, eyes darting from person to person, observing, analyzing.

***

Barely an hour later, a tight-lipped Daryl was dragging Randall to the outer barn, accompanied by Shane and Rick. The leader forced his thoughts to quiet down, his feelings to go back to the reassuring numbness. This was what he’d been expecting ever since the boy had revealed -- in a desperate but misguided attempt to show how ordinary he was -- that he’d been in the same school as Maggie.

The weight of the Python on his hip had never been heavier. 

Daryl pushed the boy in the barn and Shane put a blindfold on his eyes. Randall was sobbing and begging. Rick faced him, took out his Colt. He glanced at his companions -- Daryl to his right, alert and worried; Shane to his left, and Rick was disgusted to see the glint in his eyes, obscenely gleeful. 

The cold voice of his 12-year-old son dropped him from the harsh reality to an even harsher one. 

“Kill him, dad! Do it!” 

Rick had no words. He lowered the gun and nodded to Daryl who had glanced at Carl, a quick flash of shock in his face.

“Take him away.”

Daryl obeyed without the smallest hesitation and grabbed Randall. He passed Shane and Carl, dragging the still-sobbing Randall behind him. Hearing Carl’s callous insistence had jolted Shane out of his own bloodlust, and he looked genuinely concerned, standing there with Carl, talking to him with a low voice. Rick walked to them, and started to lead them towards the house.

“Carl, I need you to go to your mom.” 

The boy opened his mouth.

“No, Carl. We’ll talk about this later. Right now I want you to-”

A scream of terror and pain cut through the dusk.

“Carl, get inside! Now!” Rick started running towards the sound, Shane on his heels. Someone was in trouble. Rick saw Daryl run out of Randall’s barn and lock the door; he was ahead of the two men and sprinted over the yard towards the field where someone was still screaming. People were coming out of the house, Glenn and T-Dog grasping rifles, all running. Rick noticed someone missing.

“Where’s Dale?” he shouted.

Andrea slowed down to look around. “Don’t know!”

“God…” Rick muttered under his breath, and speeded up.

They got there right after Daryl had put the lone walker down. There was nothing to be done, and Rick knew it from the first moment he saw Dale’s stomach, ripped wide open. Hershel confirmed it, voice calm and sad, and took away Rick’s last hope. He wanted to howl, curse, hit something until his fists would give out. He turned back to Dale -- another mission of mercy to be taken care of, but this time it would be for a living person. _Someone gets to die tonight, after all_ , the desperate thought settling hard on his mind.

He glanced around. Andrea was sobbing violently, Hershel with his sorrowful face, Lori shocked, Carl horrified. Shane stood by him, staring down at Dale, once more doing nothing, ruthless bluster and aggressive swagger subdued. _Just like with Sophia._

Rick was tired all of a sudden, all energy leaking out. _I get to kill someone tonight, after all. Yay me._

Dale’s eyes were half mad with pain, he couldn’t get a word out, only inhuman growls, but Rick imagined his gaze was begging. Asking for a way out -- asking Rick to make sure he wouldn’t be coming back, either.

Rick took a deep breath, and another one, steadied himself, and pointed the gun at Dale’s head. The man’s anguished eyes moved to the barrel. Rick put his finger on the trigger. Felt his arm muscles start to tremble. _No, I have to do this. In this world, this is what friends do now._

But still he couldn’t pull the trigger; a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, and it was too much, too much -- and then a firm hand touched his, a steady presence entered his personal space, and slowly, without a word, Daryl took the gun out of Rick’s hand. They looked at each other for a fraction of a second, held an entire dialogue like that, and Daryl crouched by Dale.

“I’m sorry, brother.”

  
  



	4. Forces of Attraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How the time flies :) It's Wednesday afternoon, so here's the fourth chapter for you lovely fellow Rickyl fans :)

Rick was empty and restless. They were in Hershel’s living room, sitting or standing or leaning. Trying to find something to say. Rick stood up and walked to the window. It was pitch black already, and it looked inviting and comforting, not like this false togetherness they had in the house, with fear and doubt and anger and jealousy and all manner of sinful feelings.

Rick turned around and walked out of the house. He felt Lori’s gaze follow him but wouldn’t even glance at her. He couldn’t deal with her right now.

He strode down the path towards the second barn, not really aiming to go in, but anywhere was better than in there. He stopped at the corner of the barn, staring at the fields and the woods, seeing nothing, just breathing and listening.

He heard the soft steps at the same time he smelled the cigarette smoke. The hunter stopped a yard from him.

Rick broke the silence.

“Didn’t go exactly like planned. This evening. Y’know?”

An affirmative grunt.

“I can’t kill Randall. Carl…”

Finally the other man said something.

“Yeah. That ain’t good.”

“How ‘m I supposed to raise this kid? I almost executed a young man, and Carl was cheering me on. I mean, how messed up is that?” 

“It’s been a rough few weeks, man… some of them adults ain’t exactly in their right mind. Ain’t a wonder a twelve-year-old got a few problems handling this shit.” The voice edged closer. “You’ll figure it out. Talk with him tomorrow. He’s a good kid, he just needs a little help.”

Rick let out a small chuckle, voice wavering uncertainly, as if it weren’t all right to laugh in these circumstances.

“You’d make a good dad.”

“Nah. Ain’t the role model sort. Ain’t got a lot of things to be a dad. ‘cause, y’know…” 

“What?”

“Maybe I got it in my blood, y’know. My grandad an’ my dad, they were regular sons of bitches… what if…”

Rick turned to look at the hunter. The man stood almost at Rick’s elbow, still smoking. His shoulders were slightly slumped, and the burning end of the cigarette created a tiny play of shadows on his lips. Rick tore his eyes away and concentrated on the issue. He figured the archer wasn’t one for meaningless _there theres_ , either.

“It ain’t genetic, Daryl, you know it. You can break the pattern if you want to. And I think you do. The way you took Sophia into your heart -- that ain’t the way a bad dad would behave. You took care of Carol, too, I know you did. An’ part of being a good dad is being a good husband to the mother of your child. You have the makings of one. Just gotta want it enough.”

Daryl shifted his weight from one foot to the other, turned a bit at the process and faced Rick. The younger man didn’t say anything, just looked at Rick. In spite of the chill that had started to creep in on them -- October, maybe? -- Rick was warm under that gaze. For a second it looked like Daryl was going to say something. A soft grunt was all that escaped his lips, though.

“What?”

“Nothin’. Lot of things. Like… you still want it enough? To be the good husband?”

Rick had almost expected that question. He nibbled on his lip, thinking.

“I’d _want_ to want it, y’know...but it can’t be just me, right? Can’t do it alone, can I?” He paused. “And it’s not like I’ve had tons of time to process this. A slight zombie problem keeps breaking my concentration.” 

Daryl’s low snort brought a tiny smile on Rick’s face.

“I just want this to be over. I’ll decide something tomorrow about the Randall kid. I’m thinking, screw the gas, we’ll drive him somewhere, twice as far as yesterday.”

Another grunt.

“You with me?”

“Hell yeah. I said as much, didn’t I?”

Daryl stubbed out his cigarette and glanced towards his tent.

“Want to come up there? It’d be warmer.” Even in the dark, Rick saw Daryl’s mouth curve into a small grin. “I haven’t got around to doin’ anythin’ about it but I got a bottle of rum in there. I figure, if this ain’t a good time to open it, then I don’t know what is.”

“Lead the way, man, lead the way.”

***

Ten minutes later, Daryl was sitting cross-legged on his camp bed; Rick sat facing him, one leg bent on the bed, the other firmly on the ground. They were passing the rum to each other, slowly taking small sips. Rick was all kinds of warm.

“Thanks.”

“Ain’t much fun to drink alone.”

“Don’t mean the rum. I meant...what you did there...with Dale. Thanks.”

“Ain't no reason you should do all the heavy liftin’.”

Rick didn’t know what to say to that. The hunter was such a mystery to him. Proud but unassuming. Gentle but hot-tempered. Smart but not pushy about it. Self-reliant but unsure of himself. He was also a loyal soul, and there were no buts about that.

He’d be honored to call a man like that his friend.

They talked quietly for a long while, decidedly about everything else but the walker world. Rick told him about his family, about a sister he had in England -- or had had, most likely. He told Daryl he’d played soccer in high school, never having been into football so much. He was ashamed to learn that Daryl had, in fact, gone to the same high school, only a few years later. Ashamed, because he’d imagined the younger Dixon not to have gone to high school at all. He thought he’d covered his surprise well, but Daryl quirked his eyebrow, amused.

“Ya thought I’s some kind of a high school drop-out?” Daryl’s Southern drawl was more pronounced than usual.

“I guess...just...didn’t picture you in a high school.”

“Didn’t go much, skipped most of the classes, but I scraped together enough courses that I graduated. Barely, but I got the fuckin’ hat. Dad got so drunk that day he broke my arm. Spent that summer with a cast.” Daryl sounded darkly amused.

“Where was Merle?”

“Doin’ time for something or other.” Daryl took the bottle from Rick’s hand, fingers brushing Rick’s like they did everytime they handed the bottle over.

“How did ya picture me then?” Daryl was studying the etiquette with great care in the dim light of the little lantern.

_Lying on this bunk with a lot less clothes on you, looking at me like you did the first time I got here, eyes half-closed, like a cat watching its prey._

Rick told the visions to kindly fuck off, and cleared his throat.

“In the woods, I guess. Maybe fishing. Hunting. Cooking. Making arrows. Target practising. Drinking beer with your friends. I dunno… climbing mountains probably. Swimming. Driving a motorcycle with a pretty girl behind you.”

Daryl chuckled. “Very cozy. Some of it even true.”

“Which parts aren’t?”

“Don’t swim so well. An’ don’t like anyone ridin’ with me. So, no girls.”

Rick took the bottle back. Goddamn sparks were flying all over the place. It may or may not be true that he let his fingers linger a fraction of a second too long. The rum was making him a tiny bit fuzzy on the finer details of the passage of time.

“And later? You been married?”

The snort was loud. “Me? Nah. Merle neither.”

“Speaking about Merle… wanna tell me about the vision version?”

“Ain’t drunk enough yet.”

“What could be that bad?”

“He knows how to rile me up pretty good. My mind can spout that stuff no problem. He doesn’t like me havin’ other friends. He’d hate this,” Daryl flicked his finger back and forth between himself and Rick.

Daryl wouldn’t say anything else about the incident. Rick decided to ask again tomorrow. A little bit at a time he’d get to know the younger man better.

“You know Carol likes you?”

Daryl held out his hand. “Gimme.” He gulped down some rum. “She’s ok.”

“Just ok?”

“Don’t know whatcha want me to say? She’s ok. I get her, somehow. She’s nice to me, most of the time at least. She’s not noisy, doesn’t talk talk talk all the time. Like I said, she’s ok.”

Rick knew he had no business doing this. Trying to tease personal details of romantic nature out of Daryl. What did he think he’d gain from that? He had a morbid fascination to this, to hearing about Daryl and his past and future lovelife. Morbid, twisted, insane, digging-his-own-grave… Did he, or did he not, still have a _wife_? Why was he wasting his energy on hopeless _chemistry_ , when there was an existing relationship to save? And boy, did he need all his energy on that project, and he had a sinking feeling he was fighting a losing battle anyway. Didn’t mean he had to torment himself like this, though.

And yet, here he was, picking at a scab…

“I thought you kinda had something going on with Carol…”

Daryl snorted hard, rum going down the wrong way, and coughed a good while.

“What! Nah man, it’s not like that.”

“I think Carol might want it to be ‘like that’.” Rick took the bottle back.

Daryl watched him take a few swigs. “Dunno one way or the other. Never said anythin’ to me. She’s ok, but I ain’t interested. As a friend, sure. No more, though.”

“Not your type, then?”

“Nope.”

Why was he doing this? Did he really, really need to hear details of Daryl’s preferences? Blondes, big tits, long legs -- stuff like that. Didn’t he have enough shit on his plate already? Why, _why_ was he giving in to this idiotic thing -- pheromones or some crap?

“What is?”

Daryl didn’t answer for the longest time. His elbows were resting on his knees, fingers loosely laced. Rick put the bottle down near Daryl’s hands and pushed it closer until Daryl took hold of it, their fingers touching, and Rick’s brain was misty with rum and the fucking pheromones so he didn’t let go, the seconds of touch ticking and tocking in his head.

“Come on, can’t be that difficult?” 

Daryl’s eyes were on the bottle.

“Why d’you wanna know?”

“Just… curious. Talking, that’s all.”

The dim light cast deep shadows on Daryl’s face; the high cheekbones even more dramatic than in the full light of day. His face was a sculpture, and Rick’s eyes glided over it, his fingers still lightly touching Daryl’s.

“Ain’t drunk enough yet.”

There was something cautious in the hunter’s voice that made Rick sober up in a second. He had leaned towards Daryl unconsciously -- he straightened his back, he moved his hand from the bottle, he gave the man the space he seemed to need. _Oh God, I hope he doesn’t think I...shit. If he did, he’d be totally right, and ain’t that a bitch._

“You don’t have to, Daryl…’m sorry, don’t wanna push you to talk about stuff you don’t want to. First Merle, now this… I’m sorry.”

Daryl took a sip from the bottle.

“‘s alright.”

“No, it’s not. I made you feel uncomfortable.”

“Won’t kill me.”

“Won’t make you happy either.”

“Not many things do, so don’t sweat it, Officer.”

“Name a few.”

“What’s this, an interrogation?” Daryl was amused now, the wary tone gone.

“Yeah, I’m here in my professional capacity. So, Mr Dixon, spill!”

The hunter took another sip.

“Dunno… being alone, I guess. Huntin’. Not the killin’ part, the trackin’ part. It’s fuckin’ intense, man.”

Rick tilted his head.

“Being alone makes you happy?”

Daryl looked Rick straight in the eye. 

“We don’t all have nice homes, okay?”

Rick nodded slowly.

“Ever been happy with someone?” _Aaaaaaand here we go again..._

Daryl chewed on his lip. “Yeah, probably.”

“Probably?”

The hunter took another sip, and a drop of rum ran down his chin. Daryl brushed it away with his forefinger and licked it clean. Rick swallowed. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Daryl was a fucking tease.

“Not counting the third degree, ‘m thinkin’ _now_ ’s not so bad, okay?” 

It was almost defiant, the way Daryl spoke the words. As if he was unsure how they would be received.

Rick didn’t know what to do with that information. His heart was beating double time and he needed air. He needed not to drink anymore, not to see the soft light on Daryl’s face, not to stare at the man licking his freaking fingers...He needed to not ask questions he couldn’t handle the answers to, he needed to stop being so goddamn fixated on Daryl fuckin’ Dixon, and instead give some thought to the mortal peril they were all in, the conundrum of Shane and Lori, and the probable ruins of his marriage. He needed to concentrate on the wellbeing of his son. He needed to be ready for whatever fresh hells tomorrow would bring.

Daryl was still looking at him, eyes guarded. Rick hadn’t said anything for a while. Not reacted at all to what the other man had just said -- and Rick knew it had to have been huge for the reserved man. The maze Rick was trying to navigate cleared up.

What he needed was to be right here, right now.

“‘m sorry.” The archer’s voice was tense. “Now I made you uncomfortable. Didn’t mean to.”

Rick damped down his silly feelings, willed his heartbeat to steady.

“You don’t need to apologize. You don’t know… how happy it makes me to hear that _you’re_ happy. Ain’t enough happiness in this world these days, we need every drop of it.”

The hunter’s shoulders visibly relaxed. When was the last time Daryl had said something nice like that to someone? When had he felt secure enough to do that? Sparks and tingles aside, it warmed Rick’s heart to realize the wary archer had probably grown to trust him a little.

Suddenly Daryl shoved the bottle back to Rick and got up and mumbled, “Need some water? I need some water.” He ambled to the other side of the tent and rummaged through the stuff piled up in there. 

Rick took a sip of rum and smiled to himself. Maybe he should leave, maybe Daryl had had an overdose of camaraderie. And maybe it’d be better to leave while he still had some control over his own actions. He put the bottle on the floor, stood up and took a few steps to the other man who was crouching down taking out bottles of water from a box. Rick put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey… maybe it’s time I left and let you get some rest. We need our strength tomorrow.”

Daryl’s muscles tensed up. He got up and slowly turned to face the leader, Rick’s hand still on his shoulder.

“I ain’t tired. But if ya wanna go, then go,” he said quietly.

Rick’s hand wasn’t staying still. Stupid hand. It had moved a few inches, settling on Daryl’s upper arm. **_Bare_ ** _upper arm_ , Rick’s fuzzy brain notified him. Yep, he really should go before he ruined a budding friendship for good.

“Didn’t say I wanted to go. Just think it might be a good idea.”

Daryl’s short bangs had fallen messily on his forehead, instead of being all neatly pushed aside like he’d started to keep them the last few days. Rick’s fingers itched to brush them away, just to find out what his hair felt like. He was so stupid, stupid, stupid!

The hunter held his gaze, didn’t flinch at all at Rick’s touch, just kept his eyes on Rick’s, face serious.

“Why? It ain’t hardly midnight. You need your beauty sleep?” 

Rick chuckled, tore his gaze from the man and looked down. _Still holding his arm, I see_ , commented his brain which had clearly gotten comfy with popcorn and coke to watch the trainwreck.

“Daryl, I…” _Have the guts to look at the man!_ Rick’s eyes traveled back up to meet Daryl’s. 

“I think you’re a great guy. And I’ve started to like you, and I think we work really well together, and I’d really like us to be friends. But here’s the thing…” Rick swallowed. How could he put this into words without revealing the full horror? 

“I think the rum went to my head a bit too hard,” he quirked the corner of his mouth into a semblance of a smile, “and I don’t think I can handle any more of this,” he waved his hand between them, “without embarrassing myself, making this awkward for both of us, and pretty much ending every chance of us staying real friends.”

There, he’d said it, and he pulled his hand away and started to turn away. Now, if only Daryl let him get out of here without any-

“The fuck man?” Daryl’s hand gripped his forearm and effectively pinned Rick to his place. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere now. What d’you mean by that crap? How’re ya gonna embarrass yourself? What the fuck is ‘handling any more of this’??” 

The hunter stepped closer, and despite their similar height, it felt like he was looming over Rick. The leader felt a bit dizzy, and he knew it wasn’t because of the rum. _And was Daryl’s voice always so gravelly, with that adorable, tiny wobble of apprehension?_

Daryl went on. “D’you mean there’s somethin’ that needs to be _handled_?”

 _And hesitance, yes, the tone Daryl had when he wasn’t absolutely certain where he stood._ Rick would’ve loved nothing more than to wipe apprehension, hesitance, insecurity and all that crap away, for good. So what the hell should he answer, to salvage the situation? 

Daryl’s gaze was relentless, his grip firm -- and he was so fucking close! Rick swallowed.

“Didn’t know I’d be this lightweight… I guess eight weeks of coma and a zombie apocalypse can do that to you. Look, I don’t want to risk what we have. I _like_ our friendship, I trust you to have my back, to have _all_ our backs, so please…”

“Just say what ya mean,” Daryl cut in, voice oddly tense and vulnerable.

Rick had no words. Where to even start? At the beginning, the sparks, the freakin’ _chemistry_? The effect the rumble of the hunter’s voice had on Rick? The way he’d love to drown in the blue of his eyes? The way the mere presence of the younger man made leading these people a little more doable? The pleasure Rick experienced sitting with him on a log somewhere, talking or being silent, clearing his mind?

His free hand landed on Daryl’s arm, felt the warm skin, the strength coiled underneath it, and his heart sank from the possibility of this being the last ever chance of Daryl ever letting Rick touch him in any way at all. Rick brushed his hand up and down, light and slow, trying to memorize the feel. Daryl didn’t move at all, his eyes glazed, or shocked maybe, Rick didn’t know. The hunter’s fingers pressed harder into Rick’s arm.

“What I mean is, I _like_ you. Simple as that.” Rick chuckled sadly. “No, that’s not right, it’s not simple at all, it’s the fucking _epitome_ of not-simple. I just can’t put it any plainer than that.” Now his hand moved, went to brush the errant bangs aside, and committed to memory the brief feel of silky hair. Daryl still didn’t move.

“What I mean is, if you want to punch me and throw me out, I get it, I do, no hard feelings. A simple ‘no’ will do, too. I just hope you could...could try not to hold this against me. Liking someone like...this...isn’t something you choose, it just happens...and I hope...I really want to be your friend. I need you to help me get us all through this shit, I can’t do it without you, can’t on so many fucking levels I can’t begin to tell you. So-”

“Shut up, Grimes.” The words came out in a low growl, and Rick should’ve been heartbroken at the words but instead he was electrified. Daryl moved, finally, inched even closer, and in the dim light of the lantern, his eyes glinted like ice.

“Talk talk talk…” the man muttered. His mouth was now so close the leader felt Daryl’s breath on his skin. 

_God, this can’t be happening…_ The fingers that had been brushing Daryl’s bangs a second ago now got tangled in his short locks, and Rick edged closer, another hair’s breadth, and he felt Daryl’s facial hair scratch his skin, their lips almost touch, and the familiar sparks pummeled on him, strong as a meteor shower.

Daryl’s hand loosened its grip, his palm slid down until it reached Rick’s hand. The hunter’s fingers intertwined with Rick’s, hesitant, almost shy -- so different from the husky growl and the bold nearness. _Maybe he thinks this is a dream...I know I do_ , Rick thought, butterflies fluttering in his belly. _This is too_ **_nice_ ** _to be really happening now, can’t be real, I must’ve passed out, too much rum... something this_ **_hopeful_ ** _can’t be real..._

Nervous, Rick licked his lips. They were so close even that small movement made their lips touch briefly. The small, desperate whimper Daryl let out almost broke Rick; his heart somersaulted, and he pressed his mouth firmly on the chapped, sweet lips of the hunter. It was such a searching little kiss, timid almost, both of them not really sure how to deal with this change in their relationship which was so new to begin with.

Rick’s fingers slid down to Daryl’s neck, down his arm to his waist; he wrapped his arm around the other man. _This is different_ , he thought hazily. Strong muscles against his palm, the broad, flat chest against his, the unmistakable sense, scent, strength of a _man_. 

Daryl pulled back just to lean his forehead against Rick’s. The hunter was panting, and Rick felt Daryl’s fingers tremble. His back muscles flexed under Rick’s palm as the man shifted his weight. Rick knew the other man was preparing to say something, he felt how Daryl tensed up in anticipation.

“You wanna fuck me or what?” 

It was meant to come out harsh and fearless, but only sounded unsure and vulnerable. So certain that in spite of these last few days, Rick couldn’t possibly want anything more from him.

Rick’s brain went on overdrive, hastily trying to pick the right words, something to ease Daryl’s mind.

“Do you mind if we just keep doing this?” he asked, and skimmed his lips along Daryl’s jawline. “Kissing’s nice, and you feel so good.” The rum had loosened his tongue, everything came out too fucking sappy…

Daryl relaxed and tilted his head down, chased Rick’s lips, and mumbled into his mouth, “Don’t mind.” Daryl’s hand settled cautiously on Rick’s back and pulled him closer.

The hunter kissed like a man on a mission -- methodically, trying out things: letting his lips glide gently over Rick’s, licking into his mouth, tongue mapping out the palate, running along the teeth; he nipped Rick’s lower lip, and judging by his reactions -- the grip on Rick’s hand tightening, Daryl’s fingertips raking on Rick’s back, just this side of pain -- he _liked_ the low moan Rick let out.

Rick was so, so turned on, but he didn’t want to scare the other man. He absolutely refused to let this get out of hand -- to give Daryl any reason to think this’d be just about fucking.

Hell, **_Rick_ ** didn’t know what this was about. He had no idea what he was doing. They were both tipsy, and the world was on its last legs, and his son was acting up, and his marriage was...well, who the fuck knew what his marriage was anymore. They’d have Dale’s funeral tomorrow morning, and then the Randall thing, and after, he’d have to think of what to do with Shane. And Lori. And the whole goddamn group.

Was this really a good time to start something with Daryl? Risk the only stability he seemed to have these days?

But then Daryl’s mouth strayed on Rick’s throat and he pulled Rick even closer and Rick felt the hardness press against his, and for a glorious moment all rational thought fluttered every which way. Daryl shuddered violently at Rick’s low moan, and the grip on Rick’s fingers was almost painful.

Rick was breathing hard, trying to focus. 

“Daryl. Daryl?”

“Mmmhm?” The hunter licked a slow stripe on Rick’s neck and nipped his earlobe.

“Fuck, Daryl… you’re not making this easy…” Rick raised his hand from Daryl’s back to his face, cradled his cheek and pushed gently. “Daryl...I don’t think this is a good idea, ok?”

The hunter snapped his head back, dropped his arm and tried to unlace his fingers. Rick cursed to himself. He’d have to be so goddamn careful with his words. A few days of tentative trust and friendship didn’t wipe away decades of hard-earned wariness. Daryl was prickly and skittish -- it would take time.

“Hey, I don’t mean...look, this, us, it’s a freakin’ GREAT idea. It’s just that we’re both drunk and there’s a lot going on. D’you really think this is the best moment to...well… to go beyond kissing? That’s already pretty huge, right? Gotta be honest with you, Daryl… I don’t have the faintest idea what I’m doing, and I don’t wanna end up hurting you. I like you, a lot,” Rick brought their clasped hands up, gently unlaced their fingers, and kissed Daryl’s fingers, one by one. “But there’s just so much crap going on right now. And… I haven’t even asked you what YOU want?”

Daryl stared at him, clearly still reeling from the sensory overload. His hair was mussed, his lips swollen and glistening. He was so fucking beautiful that Rick’s heart ached from the need to keep touching him. How he’d ended up wanting some man this much, he had no idea. Over forty years on this planet, and NOW he was starting to realize that the wandering eyes in high school might have been an indication of something more than just a phase. Whaddya know.

“Ain’t used to that…”

“What? This?” Rick caressed his cheek with tender fingertips and pressed a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“Meant what you asked… what I want… haven’t been asked that a lot.”

 _This is fucking ridiculous…_ for a change, could the man kindly say _something_ that wouldn’t make Rick have even _more_ affection towards him??

“Well, I’m asking now. What do you want from me? From this?”

Rick waited patiently. This wasn’t the time to keep talking. He wagered Daryl had a lifetime’s worth of experience in being ignored and brushed off. Always having to fight to make himself heard.

“I want to survive the walkers. I want to help you fix this group if it’s even possible. I want to...to be your friend.” Daryl paused to think; his eyes drifted away from Rick. He chewed on his lip, and even in the dim light Rick saw color rise on his cheeks.

“Just say it. You’ve got a right to say what you want. Always. Not just now.” Rick gave him a quick smile. “That’s what **_I_ ** want: to hear what’s on your mind.”

The hunter cleared his throat and his blue gaze turned back on Rick.

“I want…” 

It looked like he was searching for words, rummaging through his mind for some way to express the inexpressible. He drew a deep breath, like preparing to jump off a cliff. 

“I want to be with ya.” 

Daryl pressed his lips tightly together, and Rick wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a bead of sweat running down his temple. Anxiety exuded from the archer in a surge of waves.

Rick was warm all over. This would create a whole bunch of new problems but this time solving them would bring about something positive. He pushed the thought of Lori aside -- Shane and Lori, they were welcome to have each other, as far as he was concerned. _Help yourselves. Hell, those two had already done that._

His heart was too full. He pulled the younger man into a hug, and the tension left Daryl’s body. The hunter’s arms wrapped around Rick slowly, as if he wasn’t quite used to doing something like that.

“I’m glad,” Rick mumbled to Daryl’s neck. He rested there for a while, feeling hopeful for a change. _Maybe we_ **_can_ ** _make this work. Make us work. Make the group work._

He pulled back.

“Tomorrow’s gonna be a difficult day. The funeral...then the trip with Randall, and it’ll take most of the day…” He paused to think. Daryl cocked his head on the side.

“Yeah? So?”

“I’d like to see where this might go,” Rick said, looking into Daryl’s narrowed eyes, wary still, even after the hug. He kept his tone calm, tried to let it convey all the affection he felt. “I think I need to talk with Lori and Carl first, though. An’ I don’t think it’d be a good idea to just spring this on them after an emotional funeral, and then leave for the day. Especially Carl… I don’t like the idea of leaving him to his own devices for a whole day, alone, listening to Shane and Lori, ‘cause I bet they’ll have a few things to say about this-”

“You’re not freaked out at all?” Daryl blurted out.

Rick lost his train of thought. “...what? About what?”

“I get you wantin’ to talk to Lori and Carl first. It’s the way it’s supposed to go. It’s fair. An’ I get that Lori might be angry -- I mean, after all, you’re leavin’ her. Not like she didn’t have it comin’, but you’re the one doin’ it, an’ not lettin’ her go on tormentin’ an’ botherin’ ya when ya need your head screwed on right. But, y’know, I’m a guy, an’ you’re a guy… You’re not at all worried how everybody’s gonna react to that? This ain’t California, man…”

Rick gaped at Daryl, and then burst out laughing.

“What the fuck, man?” Daryl asked, half annoyed, half amazed.

“I swear I’m a bit slow… I’ve been wrapped up in figuring out why I’m feeling like this towards a man, towards you, and if I should do something about it, other than daydream... I’ve worried about your reactions, your feelings; I’ve worried about our friendship, I’ve worried about Lori’s reaction to the final break-up, or Carl’s reaction to it… I’ve been so busy worrying about everything else _except_ how the others are gonna take the _gay_ couple aspect... Yeah, I guess I spared a couple of stray thoughts to Lori’s reaction to it but, y’know, we’ve got -- well, we _had_ \-- gay friends so I guess it never occurred to me _that_ might be the main problem to someone…”

Rick paused to think.

“Carl’s opinion is pretty much the only one I care about, and I think he’ll be more upset about his parents’ separation than about his dad liking a guy. I hope we’ve raised him better than that. If the others have a problem with it then… Well,” Rick shrugged, “I ain’t gonna stop liking you just because someone lives in the 19th century.”

He watched the other man, saw the changing emotions on his face. He had no idea what Daryl was thinking. He’d learned to read him about matters related to fights, walkers, issues within the group… The relationship stuff was too new, hardly more than a tiny seed, and they hadn’t had any time to learn this language yet.

Finally the hunter nodded. “Ok.”

Rick nodded back. “We’ll handle whatever tomorrow brings, and then we’ll deal with this stuff after, in peace. Boy, am I glad when the Randall thing is over…”

“You and me both, man…” Daryl nudged him. “Now, go have your beauty sleep.”

Rick turned to walk away, then stopped and turned back.

“Why aren’t _you_ freaking out?”

Daryl snorted. “Like I’d give a flyin’ fuck what them people think of me. You say they like me -- well, this’ll be a real good test then, right?” He nibbled on the side of his thumb. “Gotta admit there are some I’d prefer to not look at me bad, or at least not worse… But the way I see it, I ain’t changed, I’ve been like this always, an’ if this is the reason someone stops gettin’ along with me overnight, then it ain’t my problem. An’ ‘sides, I ain’t important. Don’t matter what they think of me. Only matters what they think of ya. You’re the leader!”

Rick smiled at the hot-headed hunter. “I’m not too worried. I’m thinking Glenn, and Maggie...Carol, Andrea -- they’re tolerant enough not to let something like that affect their behavior. Hershel may be old-fashioned but he’s got a kind heart.” He shrugged. “Could be I’m too much of an idealist. We’ll see the day after tomorrow.”

  
  



	5. Reactions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Friday afternoon, and here's the fifth chapter. Have a relaxing weekend :)

Rick walked slowly across the clearing back to the tents. He padded silently to their tent, took off his boots and pants and shirt and lay down on the bed, careful to not touch Lori. He lay there, eyes open, staring at nothing, replaying the evening over and over again, smiling to himself goofily. There was an endless amount of shitty problems waiting for him in the morning but right this minute he wanted to forget them all, and relive the kisses and the touches and the tingling tension.

Lori’s voice burst through his pleasant thoughts.

“You were with _him?_ ” A question, and yet not a question. The small emphasis and the careful attempt to hide the dislike from her voice revealed who she meant.

“Yep,” Rick said, popping the p at the end.

“Why? What in God’s name could you have in common with that man? Why would you spend an evening with him rather than your family?”

_A lot of nerve she has!_

“First of all, I wouldn’t have been good company for Carl after what happened today, he was better off with you guys in the house. Second of all, I wanted to be with someone I feel absolutely safe with, who doesn’t interrogate or challenge me constantly, or nag, or bluster, or shout. Believe it or not -- I really couldn’t care less either way -- with him I can relax and have actual conversations without having to be on my guard every fucking second.”

Lori sounded offended. “You don’t have to curse at me.”

“ _That’s_ what you got out of it? Very well. I’m sorry.” Rick turned on his side, his back to Lori. “Sleep well.”

“You stink of alcohol.”

Rick sighed. “We had some rum. After today, it felt like a perfect moment to have a few drinks.”

“Everybody asked for you… don’t think we haven’t noticed you keep vanishing every day. I didn’t know what to tell them, it was very embarrassing, not knowing where my husband is…”

Rick felt Lori’s slim hand worm its way along his back, over the waist to his belly. Lori moved, her breasts pressed into Rick, and he couldn’t help the reaction, the cold shudder, and Lori mistook it for something else entirely, and her hand just kept on roaming. Rick still tasted Daryl on his lips, and wanted to jump up and finish this charade once and for all, but they had agreed how they’d go about this.

Rick took Lori’s hand and moved it aside gently but firmly. “Not now, Lori. Let’s just sleep. It’s gonna be hell of a day tomorrow.”

Lori huffed, and backed away. “Okay then. If that’s what you want.”

“Good night, Lori. Sleep well.”

Silence was the only answer he got.

***

“He said this group was broken. The best way to honor him is to unbreak it.”

Words flowed out of Rick’s mouth, all unplanned. The sight of the small row of graves made his heart heavy, thinking back to Atlanta… Too many lives lost from what was a small group to begin with. And now Dale, who’d been a lot of things -- annoying, among others -- but who’d had an unwavering sense of old-world principles. Rick feared his own backbone had already started to crumble -- he didn’t know if he’d gone through with Randall’s execution, but he’d been ready to do it, had pointed the gun to the boy’s head.

He felt Daryl’s eyes on his back. The hunter was standing a few yards from the others, behind Carol, and his gaze had been glued on Rick from the beginning. Rick drew strength from that, from the steady trust the temperamental archer put in him, only a few weeks from their first laying eyes on each other.

And only a few weeks since Rick had awoken in a new world.

“We're not broken. We're gonna prove him wrong.”

He wanted to believe his own words.

***

“So we’re back to this?” Shane huffed scornfully. “Didn’t work so well the first time around. What makes you think this time will be any better? How’re we ever gonna be safe with that boy alive to rat on us?”

“We’ll never be _safe_ , Shane. No such thing anymore,” Rick said calmly. “But I meant what I said just now. We _are_ gonna stay civilized, as far as possible. As far as we’re not _forced_ to act otherwise -- and this ain’t one of those times. We’re _not_ going to start killing preemptively, ‘just in case’. Not on my watch.”

Shane looked at Rick, face impassive. 

“You’re the boss,” he said finally. “When are we leaving?”

“ _We_ aren’t. You’re staying here to keep everything in order. Daryl’s coming with me.”

Shane glanced at the hunter who was sitting on the porch in his tattered clothes, sprawled on the stairs, smoking, crossbow on his lap, eyes half shut, looking for all the world like the white trash Shane knew he was.

“You don’t trust me to come with ya?” he asked, with an odd little half-smile on his face.

Rick kept his tone steady. “I trust you to keep these people safe while I’m gone.”

Shane snorted. “Fine. You wanna take Daryl as your wingman, be my guest.”

The leader eyed his oldest friend with an emotionless expression.

“Thank you,” he said, succeeding in keeping the sarcasm from his voice, and turned to walk to Daryl.

He felt uncomfortably exposed, his back to Shane. He’d spent years trusting Shane with his life every single workday, and now…

Daryl followed Rick with his eyes, and when the older man reached the porch, he stood up. 

“So?”

Rick grunted. “Let’s help the others move our stuff inside. Carol’s putting together some provisions for Randall. Shouldn’t be more than an hour, then we’ll get going.”

It was getting incrementally colder, and Hershel had finally invited them to settle in the house. Lori and most of the others were packing their things; T-Dog drove to and from the house, ferrying the bags and boxes. Carol was inside, rustling up a selection of supplies for Randall. Daryl collected his things and brought them closer to the house, and started to pitch his tent a few dozen yards from the back porch. Rick noticed Shane leave in a huff and drive towards the windmill. _Good. He can hammer the windmill to settle his temper_ , Rick thought drily.

He was inside, setting up camp beds when he happened to glance out the window. He noticed Lori stride towards the windmill. He stood there for a long while, watching Lori reach Shane, watching Shane climb down from where he’d been strengthening the structure, near the blades. He watched them lean on the truck to talk and talk and talk. He watched Lori throw her head back like she tended to do, laughing hard, and then they talked some more. He watched Lori leave. He watched Shane stand motionless like a statue, then turn and slam his fist against the side of the truck, and trudge back to the windmill. Even from the distance, Rick knew his posture -- Shane was mad. Full of pent-up rage.

Rick bit his lip and thought of his options; then he left in search of Andrea. She didn’t take well his request to keep an eye on Shane -- to babysit him, like she put it -- but Rick felt a bit better anyway. She might not always agree with Rick, but she was sensible. And she seemed to get through to Shane, which was more than Rick could say about himself these days.

Hershel walked in, and they spent half an hour talking about the coming days. Rick was blunt about the situation with Shane.

“If you’re worried about him, why aren’t you taking him with you?”

“I think what we need now is a bit of distance, not hours cooped up in a car. The last time we did that, it didn’t end well, and things are now even more tense. I’ll get this done with Daryl, and tomorrow… Tomorrow I have things to discuss with my family… I’m not gonna lie to you, Hershel, it’s gonna get worse before it gets better, but it _will_ get better, I promise. Things just need to cool down a bit.”

Hershel nodded thoughtfully. “We’ll be fine, don’t worry. Tomorrow’s going to better, it’ll help when we get the boy away from here. You and Daryl leaving soon?”

“Probably, yeah. We’ll just pack the car, then we’ll be off.”

Rick walked to Daryl’s tent and peeked in. The hunter was there, crouching by a backpack and cramming it with water bottles and bread and ammo. Daryl looked up and brushed his short bangs aside.

“We’re ready?”

“ _You_ seem to be,” Rick said, amused. “I get a few things and whatever Carol’s put together.”

Daryl got up and flung the bag on his back and picked up his crossbow and rifle. “I’m gonna get the car.”

Rick was still blocking the doorway; he turned sideways to let the other man pass. The opening was narrow, and Daryl raised his eyebrows at Rick as he pushed past the older man, Daryl’s arm brushing heavily against Rick’s chest.

“Daryl?” Rick said just as the man was wiggling his rifle through the door opening. Daryl stopped, turned his head towards Rick. 

“Hunh?”

“Just wanted an excuse to touch you.” Rick was flirting, oh yes he was, and in the middle of all the shittiness that was today, it felt amazing. Rick had forgotten how much fun it could be. Fuck, it’d been years since he’d flirted with his wife. 

The tough archer blushed up to his ears. “Wh-what??”

Rick’s fingers skimmed along Daryl’s back, traced the lines of the bag; he felt Daryl shudder lightly.

“Ticklish?” he smirked. Fuck, he could get used to this…

Daryl cleared his throat. His words came out low and gravelly and with a tiny lilt of playfulness. 

“Nah, I ain’t ticklish. This somethin’ ya like, Grimes? Havin’ me restrained like this, _Officer?_ Wanna have your way with me? Just...keep in mind… that revenge is sweet.” Daryl lowered his gaze to Rick’s mouth and bit his lower lip. Rick let out a tiny little whimper; Daryl’s teeth sank into his lip, and Rick _felt_ it like they had bit into his own. 

_Fuck!_ Rick hadn’t expected this from the other man somehow, hadn’t expected him to catch on so quickly and push back like that. He’d thought to tease the shy man just a bit, but Daryl had effectively turned the situation around.

Daryl chuckled and pushed past him. “Come on, Grimes, can’t handle a little backtalk?”

Rick laughed out loud, an honest-to-God happy, spontaneous chortle. “Keep it coming, Dixon, I’ll handle anything you can throw at me.”

“Talk, talk, talk…”

Rick followed the other man, shaking his head, still chuckling. _Maybe today will turn out ok after all. It’s a possibility, right? It’s just statistics, right, we’re bound to have one good day once in a while? A few hours’ drive there and back, Andrea and Hershel will keep things together here, and all the difficult discussions are for tomorrow. Today, it’s basically a road trip. With Daryl._

He smiled.

  
  



	6. Processes of Elimination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something new for you guys to read on this fine Monday afternoon :)

Rick threw his bag on the back seat. “You mind getting the package, T-Dog?”

The burly man nodded and left towards the barn. The others waited with them, wishing them safe journey. Shane was nowhere to be seen, probably still working through his anger, whatever was the cause for it this time, and Rick couldn’t bring himself to care one bit. Daryl was leaning on the car, his arms still bare, and Rick had a hard time tearing his eyes off of the hunter’s skin, imagining how it would feel under his fingertips. 

He shook his head lightly, smiling inwardly. He was fucking _infatuated_ , in the middle of an apocalypse, death, destruction, divorce… He was a grown-ass adult, and he was infatuated like a teenager. Who’d’ve guessed?

His thoughts were interrupted by a shout.

“Rick!” T-Dog was jogging towards them, worry evident on his face. “Rick! He’s not there!”

Everything halted for a few seconds. Then all of them sprinted towards T-Dog, towards the barn. And just like he’d said, Randall was not there. Bloody shackles dangled from the hook on the wall, and Rick couldn’t fathom how the boy had got out of them. He walked back out and felt all eyes on him, waiting for his directions.

“Rick?” Glenn said timidly. “What’re we gonna do?”

The leader looked at the group, every one of them, one at a time. Most of them looked vaguely scared. Hershel was calm, Glenn wide-eyed and worried, T-Dog with his shoulders hunched, like it was his fault the boy had escaped. Finally he glanced at Daryl who was standing slightly apart. The hunter’s gaze was steady, it bored into Rick, sending a message, and it was received.

“Daryl can track him. Glenn, come with us, we need to leave **_right now_ ** if we want to have any chance of catching him up. And someone find Shane. Where the hell is he?” He couldn’t help it, his eyes turned to Lori, and his mood didn’t improve when he saw her flinch. “Someone find him,” he just repeated, and started a brisk walk towards the house. They’d need some weapons.

Ten minutes later the three men were approaching the woods. Daryl had found the tracks, of course he had, but he had traced them with a frown on his face. Rick hadn’t asked; he figured Daryl would tell him when there was something to tell. He had enough on his mind. Nobody had found Shane.

There was a pattern there, but fuck if Rick had any idea what it meant. Shane had wanted Randall dead, that he knew for sure. But Randall had escaped, so did it mean Shane had left in pursuit? Had he been on his way to kill the boy just as he noticed him run away from the barn? He had to have actually seen him because Shane -- like Rick -- couldn’t track for shit. So where was he?

There was something nagging him at the back of his mind. The shackles.

His thoughts were interrupted by a rustle on his right, from behind a thick cluster of trees. Daryl swang around, crossbow at the ready; Glenn’s jaw tightened and he raised his rifle. Rick’s eyes were glued to the trees.

“Rick? Thank God!”

“Shane? What the fuck?” Rick gasped. Shane was stumbling towards them, a bloody gash on his forehead. Glenn lowered his rifle and jogged to help the wounded man. Daryl’s crossbow tipped downwards slowly, and Rick’s quick glance told him that the hunter still had the same baffled little frown on his face. Something was off but it seemed neither of them could quite put their finger on the reason. And then the sound of Shane’s trembling voice pushed the thought aside; they had more immediate problems to solve.

“He got away! I tried… but he got away!” Shane’s eyes flitted from Rick to Daryl to Glenn as he told his story. He’d been just returning from the windmill- 

“It’s on the other side of the house, ya can’t see the barn from there,” interrupted Daryl. Shane’s mouth twitched; he heard the interrogation in the hunter’s voice. 

“Shut up, grown-ups are talkin’ now,” Shane hissed, letting all his animosity towards the younger man show. Rick glanced at Daryl, but to his surprise the other man didn’t take the bait; Daryl just quirked his lip like he was amused. Rick looked back at Shane.

“It’s a valid point, though. You mind telling me how you saw Randall from the other side of the house?” Rick asked evenly.

“Didn’t know this was the third degree,” Shane snarled. “I just wanted to walk back, take a longer route. I had stuff on my mind, wanted to walk it off, y’know.”

He cooled down, touched his forehead and grimaced. Glenn pat on his pockets and came up with a cleanish handkerchief and offered it to Shane. He wiped some of the blood away and continued the story. Apparently, he’d seen Randall sprint towards the woods and had decided to follow him right away, instead of coming to get the others.

“Didn’t wanna waste time. I had him in my sights, y’know, thought it’d be easy to catch him, the boy wasn’t in great condition and had a bad leg an’ all.”

Shane told them how he’d almost managed to get his hands on the boy when Randall had slipped away, and when Shane had ran after him, the boy had surprised him from behind a tree, hit him over the head with a rock, and waltzed off with Shane’s gun. When he’d come to, he’d decided it was best to get some help.

“Kid weighs a buck-25 soaking wet. You trying to tell us he got the jump on you?” Daryl’s voice was neutral.

“I say a rock pretty much evens those odds, wouldn't you?” 

Shane didn’t do a very good job at reining in his hatred. Briefly, Rick wondered if Shane would hate Daryl more or less after tomorrow, after Rick’s little talk with Lori. Would Shane jump at the chance of winning Lori back and forget the humiliation of someone else gaining the status of being Rick’s wingman (as Shane had put it)? Or would it just get worse when Shane would realize that ‘wingman’ was not all Daryl was? 

If they just got through this evening and tomorrow’s stormy discussions, it would start to calm down, little by little. Rick had to believe it.

He cut in. “Doesn’t matter now. We need to find him -- all other stuff can wait. We split up, we cover more ground that way.” 

He looked at the three men. Daryl’s eyes were intense. _“I’ll go with ya.”_

Reflexively, Rick gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head. _What was that?_ He’d acted like he’d read the other man’s mind! ‘ _Weird’ don’t start to cover this shit anymore..._

Obviously, to say that Shane and Daryl pairing up was a bad idea would be the understatement of the year. He could go with Daryl and leave Shane and Glenn together, but it had already been his gut reaction to say no to that. With a sinking feeling, he wondered if that reaction came from the same place as the nag-nag-nag at the back of his mind about the shackles.

And if that was the case, the pairing was obvious. He looked at Daryl and read in his worried eyes, clear as day, _“Do NOT go with Shane!”_

Another tiny little shake of the head. “ _I know what I’m doing, Daryl.”_

_I hope._

“Daryl, you and Glenn start heading up the right flank. Me and Shane'll take the left. Remember, Randall's not the only threat out there. Keep an eye out for each other.”

With a grunt, Daryl started off with Glenn. Rick turned to the left, Shane on his heels.

“I’m surprised you didn’t go with your new best friend.” Shane’s voice was carefully bland, and Rick refused to take the bait. He’d need his full focus tonight.

“Nah, wanted to go with you. Good ol’ times’s sake and all that,” he said lightly. He knew that Shane would notice that he didn’t refute the part about the best friend. He also knew Shane wouldn’t be happy with Rick not _reacting_ \-- Shane wasn’t good at being ignored in any way. In that he was remarkably similar to Merle, actually, based on what little Rick had observed Daryl’s brother.

Unlike so many other times, they stayed silent for the longest while. Twigs and dry leaves crunched under their feet; Rick heard Shane walk steadily behind him. The leader didn’t know what to expect. Would this go down as another face-off like a few days ago, with cuts and bruises and barely any relief to the tension they had between them these days? Or could they just talk it out? 

Rick had a bad feeling that Randall hadn’t got out on his own. Shane had wanted him dead, so what if he’d let him loose, lured him into the woods on some pretense, and then things went sideways, Randall escaped for real, and now Shane put up this show to save his face? 

But the silence behind Rick wasn’t embarrassed, not even a little bit. Shane’s eyes drilled into Rick’s back and created an uncomfortable itch, reminding him of that morning. At what point had it become unnerving to turn your back to your oldest friend -- your brother? A snippet of their discussion rang in his head. _“Not on my watch.” “You’re the boss,” had Shane replied._

Then of course, if he _weren’t_ the boss…

But what was he thinking? Unholy thoughts to a direction which rebeled against his principles. What Lori had insinuated had been unthinkable. He couldn’t imagine his oldest friend would entertain thoughts of the similar nature, however angry and bitter he might be.

For a short moment he considered the possibility of letting Shane know he was welcome to Lori, but he quickly decided against it. For one, this was about more than Lori -- it was Carl, too, as well as the unborn child. And it was about being on top of the food chain in this little group. About being the one calling the shots. Thus far, Shane hadn’t appreciated a single one of Rick’s shots, so maybe Shane was thinking it was time for the other alpha-male to be the boss. They’d been butting heads like fuckin’ rams from the moment Rick had found his family at the quarry. At first, Rick hadn’t thought much of it, everyone had been shaken and there’d been other worries. But the past week, it had gone from bad to worse. So yeah, it wasn’t just about Lori. Shane might be looking for a way to bring Rick down _hard_ , might be looking for a solution that’d be _permanent-_

-but where were his thoughts drifting again? Unthinkable.

The thundering silence behind him didn’t encourage the handing out of olive branches. Was Rick certain his every decision so far had been correct? Hell no. He hadn’t any illusions of infallibility. Did he have things to apologize for? He honestly didn’t think so. He’d only wanted to find his family, and after that, he’d only wanted to keep the group alive. Every single decision he’d made had been with that in mind. And fuck if he was going to apologize for trying to remain human even in the walker world.

Was Rick prepared to back down and let Shane lead, if that was what it would take to keep the peace?

No.

He mulled over that gut-reaction response for a few seconds. He’d bitched about being in charge but apparently he didn’t want to give it up either. 

No, it wasn’t that, as such… He’d lived over four decades, he’d known men and women he’d’ve gladly handed the leadership mantle. People whose judgement he’d trusted. 

But this Shane here, this post-apocalyptic Shane… he wasn’t like that. Rick felt Shane’s eyes like icy fingers on the back of his head -- a leader’s gaze shouldn’t make any group member feel like that. And Shane looked down on Daryl, and hell would freeze over before Rick would let Shane pull rank on the hunter. He could only imagine how Shane would take the news of their relationship. Like they were allies in every sense of the word, united against Shane. _Rednecks, white trash, sentimental weaklings, faggots -- yeah, collect the whole set._ Rick snorted to himself -- what a macabre, mirthless thought, but Rick wouldn’t put it past Shane, unfortunately. And wasn’t that a sobering revelation: this was a man he would’ve sworn he knew, inside and out, only a few short months ago.

Nope. He’d have to find some way to defuse this situation, but these dark and silent woods weren’t the time nor the place for telling about Lori or Daryl. Rick tried to avoid his thoughts derailing to corrupt tracks, but still, the word that kept popping in his mind when he listened to the suffocating silence behind him was _ominous_. God, he just hoped they’d find Randall quickly, get him back to the farm, sleep on this shit, so maybe tomorrow they might have a small chance for a reasonable discussion. 

They kept searching for what felt like hours but was, in fact, only less than an hour. Rick kept his voice carefully neutral every time he spoke to Shane. He strained his ears to decipher every nuance of Shane’s answers but got none the wiser.

Until they got out of the woods and were half way over the moonlit fields, heading back to the house, maybe ten minutes’ distance from it.

The faint click he heard behind his back was all too familiar to his trained deputy ears. His skin crawled, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He’d fallen victim to his fucking idealism. Wanting to keep some shred of the old-fashioned _believing in people_. Kinda ironic, considering all the things Shane had told him on the subject.

“So this is where you planned to do it?”

“It's as good a place as any.”

“Why?”

“Why? You gotta ask? After everything? After risking our lives, making a gazillion bad calls, being stupid and weak? You honestly gonna ask me why? What more d’you need?” Shane’s snort was genuinely amused, like Rick’s cluelessness was a source of humor.

Rick’s throat was dry. He still hadn’t turned to face Shane. Two emotions battled within him: a horrified disappointment in his former friend, and a calm realization that this might be it for him unless he could talk or fight his way out of this.

“You got a story prepared why you’re coming back without me? Gonna say a walker bit me and you had to be the merciful angel?”

Shane adjusted his earlier words.

“That’s as good a story as any. Or I can say we got separated for a second, Randall jumped on you, and I didn’t get there in time. Randall’s pretty useful like that.”

“Did you kill him?”

“Yep. Can’t have risks like that lying around here, and you just wouldn’t see it, god you’re stupid... You don’t _listen_ , do ya? Always so sure you’re doing the _right thing_ , whatever the hell that means. Letting that goddamn trash follow you around like a lost li’l puppy, doing your dirty work.” Shane’s voice got rougher. “Can’t have that. Can’t have a weak leader and an obedient little henchman. I’m gonna make us strong and keep Lori and Carl safe. You can’t do it, you’re obsessed with your _ideals_ and _principles_ and _let’s do what Dale would’ve wanted us to do_ ,” Shane mimicked Rick’s speech at Dale’s funeral. “No, that’s not gonna fly anymore. This world don’t operate like that anymore, and you’re too weak to get it.”

Ice water in Rick’s veins. He felt glacier calm, his thoughts clear and logical, working out the potential angles of attack -- both verbal and physical. He turned around very slowly -- every second he was still breathing gave him a chance to get out of this.

“You still don’t get it? There you’re standing, like a lamb waiting to be slaughtered. And you ask me _why_?” Another snort. “You don’t know how to fight for what you want. That’s why. I want to keep Lori and Carl and myself safe. Anything or anyone jeopardizes that, I’m prepared to take it down. You aren’t, you’ve proven that already. So I’m sorry, man, but you gotta go.” Shane’s tone was near gentle, like he honestly wanted Rick to understand his for-the-greater-good reasoning.

“And you think nobody would suspect anything? They’ve seen how we’ve been these past days, you know.”

“You forget, I’ve been with most of these people longer than you have. They are excellent at believing what they want to believe, just to keep a strong leader who’ll protect them. Hershel’s too mild-mannered and weak to do anything, even if he asks something.” Shane shrugged. “And anyway, maybe it’s time to lose the old man, he’s been nothing but dead weight from the get-go. Glenn’s too busy fucking the farmer girl to worry about who’s the leader. T-Dog’s a born follower. And your tame archer...he’s pretty taken with you, surprisingly enough, seeing as you most likely got his brother killed. He’s prickly and hot-headed and he _might_ be a problem, but trailer trash like that, they’re easy to get into line. Like training a dog -- you just gotta break it first, it’ll heel prettily enough soon after.” 

Shane’s gun didn’t waver when he chuckled silently. “Maybe it’ll be my first project as a new leader. Don’t worry, I won’t kill your pet if he behaves. He’s a useful little thing, we need the fighters alright, the good li’l soldiers.”

A part of Rick’s mind -- the part that wasn’t calculating the ways out, or the part that wasn’t screaming bloody murder because of the future Shane was planning for Daryl -- was mildly worried about the state of Shane’s sanity. Angry, bitter, powerhungry -- yes, ok, why not. Only human, unfortunately. But the way Shane was ranting… he wasn’t _all there_ , now was he? Whatever had happened during these weeks and months and the past few days, it had caused _something_ to rearrange itself in his former friend’s head. Or maybe something had just had the chance to surface for the very first time. However, the _why_ or _what_ didn’t really matter: Shane was erratic and volatile, and it was a dangerous combination -- you couldn’t reason with it, Rick knew that from experience. 

“Come on, Rick, don’t you want to even _try_ to fight me? You were so cocky a few days back. Come on, humor me!”

“No, Shane. You have to shoot an unarmed man, as far as I’m concerned. You look me in the eye and think of all the decades of friendship. This really how you wanna end it?”

Shane spat on the ground. “Friendship ain’t gonna be worth nothing if it gets us killed. You’re too chicken to make harsh decisions. That’s not the kind of a friend I need. You ain’t got what it takes to look after Carl, and I’m done following a guy who just wants to coddle everyone.”

Rick’s gaze was glued to Shane, but he could’ve sworn he saw a flicker of something move to the right of Shane, too fast to be a walker. _What now?_

Shane tightened his grip on the gun. “And I’m done talking. Time to move on. You say your prayers now if you wanna, I’m gonna count to five. This’ll be a regular _this here town ain’t big enough for the two of us_ moment. Fits, right?” He chuckled.

He heard Shane start counting slowly. By the time Shane would reach four, Rick had to do something. He-

“Hey!!!!!!!!” 

A loud shout broke the monotonous counting, took Shane completely by surprise, and made him reflexively twist his torso to the direction of the sound. Rick didn’t even bother to look who’d shouted -- he had a pretty good idea anyway. The gun wasn’t pointed at him anymore; he charged like a bull, but he was still a stride away when he heard a dull _thwack_ and saw a bolt appear, burrow deep in Shane’s chest, just below the right collarbone. The man cried out, dropped his gun and swayed hard on his feet, tried to retain his balance.

Rick’s first priority was to get the gun from the ground. In a few hours the whole thing would probably hit him hard, but right now he was calm -- arctic cold, businesslike. He glanced at Shane. The man’s face twisted in pain, blood oozed from the wound, and Rick vaguely hoped he’d feel something. But he couldn’t _hate_ the man, his oldest friend, who had protected his family. Whatever had happened later, Shane had ensured that Rick had had a son to find, alive and well, and that the son had a mother as well. And Rick could somehow see his point, warped as it was. But he couldn’t _pity_ the man either, couldn’t find an ounce of worry within himself for Shane’s life. 

He heard the sound of running feet and turned to look at Daryl and Glenn. 

“What the fuck, man?” Glenn panted, out of breath after the frantic dash over the field. “What the fuck’s going on? We found Randall, he’d turned, but Daryl said his neck’d been broken.”

“How are you here then?” Rick’s voice was calm, calm, calm… like nothing special had gone down just now.

“Daryl got suspicious. A real Star Wars moment. _I’ve got a bad feelin’ about this_ , y’know. Started tracking you guys. Seems we got here just in time.” Glenn’s young face was shocked as he watched Shane who’d dropped on his knees, reeling from the hit.

Rick turned his gaze to the hunter and flinched. Daryl’s eyes were shooting daggers at him. Daryl didn’t often let his face express his emotions but now, the set of his jaw, the twist of his mouth… the man was livid, on the verge of going off like a grenade. Daryl took a few quick steps to Rick and shoved him hard on the chest. Rick stumbled backwards; Daryl followed him and shoved him again.

“You!” It was a snarl, so tense and rage-filled Rick wondered how Daryl managed to force it out of his throat. “You. Fuckin’. Moron! I **_told_ ** ya not to go with Shane, but noooo, ya don’t _listen_ , do ya, Mr I-know-what-I’m-doin’?! Never again, ya hear me? NEVER AGAIN! Don’t do this to me EVER again! I can’t protect ya if ya send me away! You don’t just go half-cocked like that! Not gonna happen again. We **_talk_**! We make **_strategies_**! What the fuck?? You. Fuckin’. Idiot!”

Daryl had been venting his rage, stabbing Rick’s chest with his index finger, lecturing him like a child. Oddly enough, Rick didn’t mind. One thing got his attention.

“When did you tell me not to go with Shane?”

Rick’s mild question cut off Daryl’s outburst. He looked at Rick, baffled. 

“Just before you split us up, man, y’know that, an’ then you…” Daryl’s voice trailed off. His brow furrowed, he looked down, chewed on his lip, thinking back, hard. Then he raised his eyes to Rick, still frowning.

“D’you mean I didn’t…?”

“Nope. But I heard it.”

“Did ya say-”

“Nope. But you heard it.”

They stared at each other, forgetting the time and the place for a few seconds.

“Fuckin’ weird, man.”

“Ain’t gonna disagree with that statement.”

Glenn coughed pointedly. “This whole Twilight Zone thing is real cool but if maybe we could do something with the actual problem and then go home, ok?”

His rifle was aimed at Shane. The man was still kneeling on the ground, his hand on the bolt sticking from his body. Blood was flowing through his fingers. Glenn’s friendly face was cold and his hands didn’t tremble.

“What do you want to do with him?” he asked. 

Rick still had no emotions to spare for Shane. Daryl, on the other hand, had plenty. He walked to Shane and looked at him. He took out his knife and crouched to look at Shane in the eye. The other man held his gaze -- say what you will about Shane, but he wasn’t a coward.

“You have anythin’ to say in your defence?” Daryl’s question took Shane by surprise. 

The man licked his lips. “I did what I did to protect Carl an’ Lori. An’ myself,” he added.

Daryl said nothing. Just kept brushing his fingers over the wide blade. Shane’s eyes flickered on the knife. Rick felt something stir inside; maybe he was snapping out of this numbness. He took a deep breath. Not a good time to lose control. _Never is, these days_ , he thought wryly.

Daryl spoke, his drawl quiet and soft.

“I kinda thought that one day, you an’ I, we’d get along. Never friends, you’re not the kind of a man I’d like to call a friend. Get along, though...ok, why not? When the worst of all this would be behind us, an’ we’d got used to each other, I figured, hey, we don’t got a lot in common but at least we’re both Rick’s friends. So we’d have that. United by Rick, kinda.

But then you tried to remove Rick from that equation so now we _don’t_ have that in common, an’ I have zero reason to try to get along with ya. The way I see it, there’s nothin’ to prevent me from removing _you_ from the picture. You don’t deserve your place there anymore. You tried to kill the leader, you plotted against him which makes it premeditated. You know what they call that kind of stuff? Treason, that’s what it is. An’ you know what used to be the standard punishment for treason?”

The conversational tone of Daryl’s words sent chills down Rick’s back. He was used to the angry, aggressive Daryl. This man with his low voice, speaking calmly, eloquently even -- the contrast was downright creepy. 

He didn’t know why he was surprised, though. Stands to reason: the hunter is deadliest when it’s quiet. And Daryl was a very good hunter.

Shane swayed and fell down; he fell on his side and the bolt twisted in the wound. He gave a low cry. “Fuck!” He panted, “Get it over with, you pussies. Three against one, that oughta do it.”

Daryl said nothing, just pressed the pad of his index finger to the knife, as if to test if it was sharp enough. Rick glanced at Glenn; the young man had a disgusted look on his face as he watched Shane. It seemed Glenn wasn’t the forgiving type either.

Rick stepped near Daryl and put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Daryl, a word? Please.”

The hunter stood up and followed Rick. They walked a few yards, Rick racking his brain, trying to figure out the correct way. There really was only one sensible solution, but-

“Ya don’t wanna put him down, do ya.” It wasn’t even a question.

“I don’t know what I want to do with him. I could kill him, banish him, take him back to heal and then do what we’d planned to do with Randall. Or just take him back. Safest would be to get rid of him, an’ be done with it. I know that. But just because he forgot what friendship and loyalty are, doesn’t mean it’s ok if I do that too. We were friends once, and he did keep Lori and Carl alive.”

He turned to face Daryl. They’d been friends for a week, maybe. Why did it feel so comfortable and safe to bare his soul to him? Reveal his deepest uncertainties like a pet dog might bare its soft belly to a trusted household member, in full confidence that the person wouldn’t misuse the weakness.

“What he said...is he right? Am I too weak to keep us safe? Is it just... _stupid_ to hang on to the old ways? Can I afford the luxury? Can _we_?”

Daryl turned to face the sight on the field: Glenn with the unwavering rifle, Shane lying on the ground. They heard him curse, a steady flow of profanities.

“I’d kill him. A rabid dog like that, it ain’t safe. What if he’d offed ya, Rick? Think about that? Think about what it would’ve meant for the group? Not just for you -- or me.”

“I did think about it but it’s no good to go there. Just makes me angry, thinking how he would’ve treated you. I don’t think it would’ve been good news for some others, either. But I can’t afford to get angry, even if I wanted to. Anger makes you do stupid things, and _that’s_ something we really can’t afford.”

Rick glanced at Daryl.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Daryl snorted. “Didn’t think I’d need to. You’re anythin’ but weak. I _know_ you’re not gonna put him down, not like this anyway, an’ I’m honest with ya: I don’t agree. That don’t mean I think you’re weak to not kill him. Or not kill Randall, for that matter. It ain’t easy to think things through, an’ ya always do that. Try to see different sides, or some crap like that.”

The hunter chewed on his lip, frowning.

“An’ them old ways… depends on what ya mean by that. From where I stand, I didn’t lose shit when the dead started walkin’. Well, Merle, but that was after. Ya wanna know what the old ways mean for me?” Daryl didn’t wait for an answer. “Booze, drugs, cuts an’ bruises, racism, bigotry, lies, DUI, theft. Ain’t gonna lie to ya, I did my share of the bad stuff,” he added, with a sidelong glance. “Bein’ on your guard around the clock, afraid for your life, always ready to defend yourself -- so that’s pretty much the same ‘s now. Hangin’ out with Merle’s friends, I didn’t look for trouble but it kinda always seemed to find me. That, an’ police brutality. Ain’t every cop an Officer Friendly. Deserved it, though, probably.”

He turned to Rick, shoulders touching lightly. “So no, that ain’t something I miss. Ain’t worth savin’.”

“You know I don’t mean those things.” Rick spoke with a soft voice. Odd, how you never could predict when the unassuming archer would let out tidbits of his life.

Daryl’s fingers brushed against his. “Yeah. I guess I do.” For the briefest of moments, Daryl laced their fingers together and squeezed, and as surely as he’d heard the soundwaves, he _felt_ Daryl think, _“...but if he tries anything again, I’ll fuckin’ exterminate him.”_

If they hadn’t been living in the middle of a zombie movie, this thing would’ve really weirded him out. In these circumstances...nah, pretty regular.

_“You don’t have to. If he does anything, my patience is finished.”_

Daryl squeezed his hand quickly again, let it go and started to walk towards the two men.

“Come on, Rick, let’s go save us some old world values.”

  
  



	7. Decomposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seventh chapter for you <3  
> Me, I'll just take an early afternoon break, and continue rewatching the show. Next in line, "Hounded" (3.06)!

Glenn and Daryl pulled Shane up on his feet and paid no attention to his whimpers of pain. Daryl frowned at the wound.

“The bolt’s through. Fuck, gotta break it off to pull it out clean.” His voice took on a more hopeful tone. “Unless I just pull it out. The bolt’s more valuable than this sorry fucker.”

Rick chuckled. He was patting Shane down, checking for knives. Just in case.

The walk back to the house was slow; on the bright side, Rick had time to assess the situation. There was no reason to sugarcoat Shane’s actions -- and it would’ve been hard to do that anyway, considering the man had Daryl’s arrow in his shoulder. ‘Hit him by accident’ wouldn’t’ve fooled anyone: if Daryl hit something, it was because he’d aimed at it. No, the group would hear the truth. 

The others were standing on the porch. Maggie saw them first and came running.

“You hurt?” She touched Glenn’s arm gingerly, and ran her eyes up and down to check for wounds. Only then did she seem to realize there was an actual reason why Glenn and Daryl were holding Shane between them. For a few silent seconds she stared at the arrow sticking out of Shane’s shoulder; her eyes flicked to Daryl, to Rick, and back to Daryl.

“The girl’s got questions, Rick. Wanna help her out?” Shane was in pain but you couldn’t hold the man down for long. 

“Only gonna explain this once,” Rick said calmly. “Maggie, go tell your dad we’re gonna need his skills."

By the time the four men had limped into the house, Hershel had gathered whatever he needed to treat an arrow wound, and he guided them to one of the bedrooms. Steely-eyed Glenn watched Shane, rifle aimed at him. Hershel raised his eyebrow; Glenn shook his head. Rick and Daryl leaned on the wall outside the room.

“Dad, what’s happening?” Carl asked with a small voice. His eyes were huge as they peered at Rick from under the wide brim of the deputy’s hat. Rick hesitated. Should Carl hear the whole sordid truth? Hear how a man who’d been almost a family member had just tried to kill his father? But if he didn’t have the truth, how would he understand what would happen later?

“Carl, please go ask everyone to the living room. You all need to hear something.”

The boy nodded and left, glad to have something to do.

Daryl glanced back in the room.

“He’s almost done.”

“Good.” Rick pushed himself away from the wall and stepped to the doorway. “When you’re done, bring Shane with you to the living room.”

Hershel looked as if he was about to protest, but Rick shook his head. “I know he’s supposed to rest, or whatever. I don’t care. He’s coming. Glenn, you know what to do if he makes any kind of trouble.” Rick turned and walked to the living room where Daryl and the others were already waiting for him. He stopped at the wide doorway and beckoned Daryl over.

The hunter looked at him with a question in his eyes. Rick said in a low voice, “They’ll be here in a minute.” Daryl nodded and looked ready to withdraw back to the other side of the room. 

“Don’t. Stay here, ok? By my side.”

Hershel and Shane walked past them, Glenn a few steps behind. 

“He should sit down. He’s lost a lot of blood,” Hershel said quietly.

Rick felt Daryl tense up; he could sense the waves of rage in the other man.

“Well, tough luck then, ‘cause he ain’t sitting down,” Daryl snarled. 

He and Rick took a few steps into the living room. They got everybody’s undivided attention; only Lori kept glancing at Shane. Then she piped up, “Rick, whatever this is, is it necessary that Carl is here?”

“Yes, it is,” Rick answered bluntly. He turned his head to Shane. The man was watching him, face unreadable. For a second Rick felt the pain. Their friendship -- brotherhood -- was well and truly dead. 

“Shane, I trust you know better than to open your mouth. One word from you, and we’ll gag you. Do we understand each other?”

Someone gasped; Rick kept his eyes firmly on his former friend and saw him nod reluctantly.

Rick let his gaze drift from one member of their group to another. 

“There’s a long and a short version. Which one d’you wanna hear?”

“Just get it out!” Carol had her arms wrapped around herself. She looked small and frail and so very shocked. Rick guessed it might have been her who had gasped just now.

“Shane let Randall loose, snapped his neck in the woods, lured us there, went off with Rick, an’ tried to kill him. Me an’ Glenn got there just in time, an’ then _I_ shot _him_.”

Some tiny part of Rick’s mind smirked at Daryl’s vicious words. The looks on people’s faces were absolutely priceless.

Then he saw Carl, and all traces of humor vanished. The boy’s shocked face mirrored anger, disbelief, alarm, betrayal. Rick’s heart ached for his son. 

“No…” The breathless sound came from Lori. She’d raised her palm on her mouth, her huge eyes wide with distress. Rick couldn’t help but wonder which part of all this distressed her the most: that Shane had tried to kill her husband -- or that he’d failed.

“Thank you, Daryl, that was most...succinct,” Hershel said, his voice steady. “Rick, do you have anything to add?”

“Actually, that was pretty much it. Shane hated the idea of letting Randall go, so he went behind our backs, let the boy go, killed him, found us just as we were stepping into the woods, told some story how the boy had jumped on him and taken his gun. We split up, I went with Shane, and when we got to the fields, he drew a gun on me, and was exactly three seconds away from shooting me -- I know this because he was counting to five at the time -- when Daryl distracted him and shot him in the shoulder.”

Andrea stared at the injured man. Rick felt a small tug of compassion for her; she’d got on well with Shane, had probably thought she knew the man.

“Why?” she whispered.

Shane almost forgot himself and opened his mouth. Daryl reminded him of the facts of life by waving his red rag in front of Shane’s face. 

“Many reasons. He doesn’t care for the way I’ve led the group. Doesn’t like my decisions. Doesn’t think I deserve to be Carl’s father -- or Lori’s husband. And just so you know, even though he was _this_ close to killing me, it wouldn’t have ended there. He said some interesting things about the possible fates of Hershel and Daryl as well.”

This earned a snort from Daryl and a raised eyebrow from Hershel. It also earned a slap on Shane’s face from Maggie who had flared up and stridden instantly to Shane.

“Dad was always right about you. You’re no good,” she hissed. She span towards Daryl. “Why did you aim for the shoulder?” Maggie’s beautiful face was downright bloodthirsty.

Daryl shrugged. “Fuck if I know. A misplaced burst of mercy.” His eyes turned ice cold. “The fucker don’t deserve to go down that easy. That wound hurts like a bitch.”

“What are you gonna do with him?” Surprisingly, that was Beth. The implied threat to his father had brought a hard edge to what was usually such a gentle voice.

“He gets what Randall was supposed to get: a trip fifty miles from here, some supplies, and a chance to make it on his own.” As Rick said the words, he gave a sideways glance to Daryl, but the hunter didn’t show any reaction. As if he’d known this would be Rick’s decision. Maybe he had. There was some weird shit going on between the hunter and him. It wasn’t life-threatening, unlike the other weird shit the world had plunged into, so Rick wasn’t worried. There was only so much worry to spare, and anyway, the way Daryl and him were sensing each other was rather pleasant.

There were objections, of course, only to be expected. Indignantly, Andrea claimed they couldn’t do that to Shane, he was their old friend after all. 

Daryl wouldn’t hear it. “Didn’t stop him from tryin’ to put a bullet through Rick’s head, so ‘m thinkin’ that argument’s a bit thin.”

Rick was expecting _something_ from Lori. This was the father of her child, after all. He turned to look at her. Lori was still frozen, a hand over her mouth, staring at Shane. She must’ve felt Rick’s eyes on her because she flicked her gaze to him, blinked, lowered her hand, and drew a deep breath.

“You’re killing him,” she said.

To everyone’s surprise, it was Carol who objected. “No, they aren’t. They’re giving him a chance he doesn’t deserve. How is this different from what we were going to do to Randall this morning? Nobody said we’d be ‘killing him’.”

“But he’s injured!”

“So was Randall. And who’s fault is it that _Shane_ is injured, huh?”

Lori’s eyes betrayed her for everyone to see. For a split second they darted straight to Daryl, hard like flint. She realized her error almost instantly, but they’d all seen it.

Hershel cleared his throat. “Lori, you do understand that the only person who’s responsible for Shane’s injury is he himself? Or would you have preferred Daryl not to take that shot? ‘cause you know what that would’ve meant for Rick, I’m sure of that. Now, you must be very upset -- I understand, this is your husband and your close family friend we’re talking about. Patricia, would you mind taking Lori to the kitchen and making her your excellent tea, it’s very calming and good for nerves.”

The older Greene’s words gave Lori an out, and she took it. Carl looked after his mother, a small frown on his face, not really grasping what had happened with her. Then he turned to his father, and Rick saw how the young face crumbled and the boy’s eyes welled up -- that part of Hershel’s words had now sunk in, and he truly understood how close it had been for his dad. Rick held out his hands and Carl ran into his arms.

“Hey…’s ok, nothing happened, we’re all alive, I’m here…” Rick kept mumbling soothing words. 

After a few moments, Carl calmed down a bit and brushed his tears away, slightly embarrassed of his reaction. He still had his arms tightly wrapped around his dad’s waist as he turned his head towards Daryl who was looking at the father and son. Carl had always been slightly in awe of the surly archer but now he visibly mustered up his courage and took a deep breath. 

“Daryl..?”

“Mmhm?”

Carl searched for words, and finally got out a strangled “thanks”. Daryl muttered an awkward “was nothin’” and patted his shoulder. The hunter nearly jumped out of his skin when Carl suddenly let his other arm off his father and wrapped it around Daryl, squeezing both men as hard as he could. 

“‘s not nothing,” he sniffed. “You saved my dad from his _best friend_!” He buried his face in Daryl’s chest; the man glanced at Rick, slightly embarrassed, and put an uneasy arm around the pre-teen. Everybody else in the room was staring at the scene more or less openly, even Shane whose face for the first time reflected a tiny shadow of regret.

Rick smiled at his son, loved the sight of Carl and Daryl hugging like that. Loved that the hunter was squeezed tight by his side. On a whim, he wrapped his arm around Daryl’s shoulder and did some squeezing of his own. 

“Yeah, son, he did. My knight in shining armor,” Rick said to lighten the mood.

Carl looked up at Daryl. “You’re friends with my dad now?”

“I guess I am, yeah.”

“You gonna be a better friend than _him_?” Carl didn’t need to say the name. His eyes traveled to Rick. “Dad, there’s something you should know… mom… mom and Shane…” The boy blushed, helpless and miserable.

“Carl, I know. You don’t have to say anything, you don’t have to worry about that. Mom and I are handling this.”

“Oh… ok. Good….”

Daryl tightened his grip on Carl and wrapped his arm around his friend. He happened to glance at the others. He shouldn’t have, it only made him flush. Maggie had a faint frown on her face; Carol’s head was slightly tilted as she was watching them, and Daryl could just _see_ the computers in their heads making calculations at breakneck speed.

 _Fuck them_ , defiant all of a sudden. _Don’t care what they think. There’s only two people I really want to like me, an’ I’m holdin’ them both._

“Hey, kiddo… ya don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be an _awesome_ friend to your dad! Though _that guy_ ’s not such a tough act to follow, y’know… pretty easy to be a better friend than he’s been. Although, ya gotta hand it to him,” he added, in a goddamn bout of fairness, _shit, Rick’s rubbing off on me_ , “he did keep you and your mom safe til your dad found ya. But yeah, I’ll look after you an’ your dad from now on. Don’t let this idiot wander into woods on his own anymore.” He dug his fingertips on Rick’s side, and the squirm and low giggle were very satisfactory. “It seems your dad’s ticklish,” he smirked, and Carl gave him a huge smile. He felt Rick’s eyes on him and turned to look at the leader. 

“Yeah, it seems one of us is,” Rick said with a low voice, and Daryl felt Rick’s arm hold him just a bit tighter. The archer swallowed. 

“Yeah, ok, well, should we talk about tonight. We got to keep an eye on him. Two-hour shifts sound ok?” Daryl got a determined nod from Glenn and Maggie, and a calm smile from Hershel. Andrea and T-Dog gave slow nods but it was Carol who surprised them once again. 

“I can take a watch too. You three should get some sleep. Especially you and Rick, ‘cause I’m betting it’s you guys who are going to drive Shane tomorrow. You need your rest for that.”

Rick thought he might need to re-evaluate the timid woman at some point.

They took Shane back to the bedroom. Rick handcuffed him to the bedpost and left without another word. Maggie took the first watch, and her firm grip on the shotgut brooked no argument.

Outside the room, Rick found Glenn and Daryl waiting for him. 

“Rick, got a minute?” the young man asked.

“Sure. What’s up?”

Daryl led them out on the porch, where Glenn quickly whispered what had been bugging him for hours.

“Daryl said he hasn’t had time to tell you about Randall-”

“What about Randall?” Rick interrupted, puzzled. What could there possibly be to talk about? They knew Shane had killed him -- end of story. Right?

“‘s weird, y’know,” Daryl’s low rumble took over the story. “We told ya he’d died because his neck had been broken. Didn’t stay dead, though. See what I mean?”

Rick thought he might see, indeed. Fuck. Wasn’t the mess with Shane not enough for tonight?

“He wasn’t bit, Rick. Not even a scratch,” Glenn chipped in. “We checked. So how was he turned, hunh?”

Daryl was about to say something when he noticed Rick’s eyes become guarded.

“Rick…? There somethin’ we should know?”

The leader ran his fingers through his hair, over and over, trying to decide what to do.

_I wouldn’t be able to lie to Daryl anyway. With this thing going on between us, he’d see right through me. I can’t keep this just to myself anymore. This is too important._

“Glenn, how are you with keeping secrets nowadays?”

“You _know_ how I’m with secrets!” Glenn huffed, exasperated.

Rick gave a short, mirthless chuckle. “Well, you’re gonna hear one anyway. Could you go get Hershel?” 

The young man turned to leave, when Rick added, “...and Carol.”

“Carol?” the two men echoed.

“Just a feeling I have… just go get them, ok?”

When Glenn had disappeared inside the house, Rick snuck a glance at Daryl. The hunter watched him -- curious, aloof, and a bit hurt. He said nothing, and the silence was awkward.

It only took a few minutes for the others to come out. Carol’s brow was furrowed. It was obvious the woman had no idea why Rick would call her, of all people, to a meeting with Daryl, Glenn and Hershel.

Rick repeated, for Hershel and Carol’s benefit, what had come up about Randall’s death. Unlike Daryl who simply waited, face impassive, the others looked worried, even scared. 

“Just before we left CDC, Jenner told me something. Just me. He said I was free to do whatever I saw fit with the information. Well, I saw fit to keep it to myself. Life was hard enough for us all without me making it worse, only ‘cause I’d like to have shared the shit. But now… after Randall, I think at least some of us need to be in the know, then we’ll decide together whether everyone needs this information.”

“Rick, just spit it out.” Daryl had crossed his arms and looked cold and impersonal, and Rick knew he had some explaining to do later.

“This thing, whatever it is, a virus or something, that makes the dead come back… it’s not transmitted by walkers.”

The others cut in with questions; Rick raised his hand to silence them and continued. 

“We all have it. Every one of us. When we die, for whatever reason, it activates. Walker bites and scratches just...dunno… make it activate quicker, or something.”

A heavy silence.

“You kept this to yourself the whole time?” Carol’s voice was incredulous. 

Hershel looked as close to agitated as probably possible for him. “I understand your reasons, Rick, I do...but what a burden you have kept on yourself. It’s good you told us now. Better late than never. Carol, what good would that information have done for us? Wouldn’t have given us hope, that’s for sure.”

Glenn was dumbstruck; Daryl’s lips were a thin line.

Carol calmed herself down. Breathed in, breathed out. Nodded.

“Ok. Ok. So…” She stopped and rubbed her face vigorously with her hands. When she started to talk again, she sounded more businesslike than Rick had ever heard from her. He might’ve made the right call, including Carol in this.

“My first instinct is to tell everyone. They should know a natural death is not a safe one. But then I think of Beth, and Carl… they’re only teenagers… I don’t know… Ok, Rick, I think I get why you said nothing…”

A small silence.

“It’s has been quite a day. Why don’t we sleep on it, decide in the morning. This has waited for a few weeks, it can wait for a few more hours,” Hershel suggested. 

Rick nodded at him. “I’m sure Glenn can keep a secret until morning?” he teased. Glenn gave him a tiny smile.

The others went back inside. Daryl took a few steps along the porch, aiming for his tent.

“Please, wait…” Rick said quickly.

A grunt. The man wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Ya was gonna tell your wife about us but I guess bein’ together ain’t good enough reason to tell _me_ about small stuff like this?”

“Daryl-”

“Nah, not my place to beg for explanations. Ya owe me nothin’.”

“Would you shut up for a second?” Rick knew better than to touch the man -- Daryl had his defences up and a touch wouldn’t have been welcome.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I owe you _everything_ , you _just_ saved my ass over there. And I _would’ve_ told you -- why would you even think I wasn’t gonna? It just didn’t seem important, these past days, there was a lot of other stuff, dontcha think? Randall and Dale and Shane and all that. And that night in your tent… walker viruses were so far from my mind they might’ve just as well been in Pluto.”

Rick tried to tread lightly. Their friendship was new, and the other stuff even newer. The thing with Shane had proven to Rick that the length of a relationship was no guarantee at all; nevertheless, the ease with which he’d placed his trust on Daryl was a bit overwhelming, it was so all-encompassing. Obviously, it didn’t work the other way around, not yet.

Daryl seemed a tiny bit mollified by Rick’s words. He leaned against the porch railing, took out a cigarette and twirled it in his fingers, eyes firmly on the floor. His voice had lost most of the aggravation.

“Nah… ya had a good point, keepin’ it secret… thought ya did the right thing… an’ ‘s not like ya _have_ to tell me everything… that’s the whole point of bein’ the leader, right? Ya gotta make the decisions an’ that means ya don’t necessarily get to blab everythin’ to everybody. That’s responsibility, an’ it ain’t easy.”

He lit the cigarette and drew on it a few times. He threw an uncertain glance Rick’s way.

“Shouldn’t’ve snapped like that.”

Rick took that as an apology and smiled at the man. He stepped closer, close enough to sense Daryl’s bodyheat. Tentatively, he brushed Daryl’s hand with the back of his fingers; the hunter didn’t flinch, so maybe Rick was forgiven, too.

“Thank you for understanding.”

Daryl let out a tiny sigh. Rick noticed the man relax. It was entirely possible that Daryl just wasn’t used to handling conflicts this way -- no fists, no shouting, no slurs, no irreparable damage to relationships on account of a simple misunderstanding. 

The hunter quirked the corner of his mouth.

“Man, what a day.”

“You don’t say… Every day, I keep thinking tomorrow’s gotta be a better day. Now, can’t hope even that. Taking Shane away ain’t exactly gonna be fun.” Rick leaned on the railing, and he was way past caring if someone saw them and noticed how Daryl’s hand crept on his waist. He needed to talk about something more pleasant. “Carl’s reaction was nice. Wouldn’t’ve thought he’d dare to hug you. Seems to like you.”

“‘s a law, I think. Eleventh commandment, y’know. Thou shalt like a guy who saves your dad’s precious ass.”

Rick snorted.

Daryl hesitated. “Ya should go get some rest.”

Rick sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He pictured the room with the cots for Lori, Carl, himself, and a sense of reluctance almost punched the air out of his lungs.

“Rest… I won’t be getting any _rest_ in there. Sleep -- possible, but doubtful. Relaxation -- not frickin’ likely.” He stole a glance at Daryl. Hesitated. “Got enough room in your tent for one more person?”

Something twisted in Rick’s gut. Was he out of line? All he knew was he didn’t want to try _relaxing_ within the same four walls as Lori and Shane.

Daryl cleared his throat. “I guess…” 

Rick turned to look at him. Daryl was chewing on his lip.

“I won’t come if you don’t want me there.” _Everything’s happening so goddamn fast. Is Daryl freaking out now? I’ve basically suggested we’d spend the night together, maybe it-_

“No, I want ya alright,” Daryl gave half a smirk. “It’s just...whatcha gonna say to Lori or Carl? Lori’s gonna want an explanation.”

The moon made sharp silhouettes of everything. The shape of Daryl’s jaw, the soft moonlight glint on the outline of his broad shoulders. The man squinted at Rick, a thumb straying on his mouth and Daryl didn’t even seem to notice that he nibbled on it.

Rick wanted to kiss him so bad he thought he’d burst.

“I’ll think of something,” he just said, pushed himself from the railing and walked in.

***

Rick got to their room just in time to say goodnight to Carl who went out like a light soon after. The boy put on a brave face but he wasn’t yet thirteen. All this death and drama wasn’t easy on him. _Wasn’t easy on the adults, either,_ Rick thought grimly.

Lori’s gaze was blank as she watched him move about.

“You coming to bed?” Her voice was lifeless. 

_This shit with her former lover really hit her hard. Not enjoying the fruits of her labor so much now? Egging us to a conflict, and now she’s all broken up about it?_

Rick wanted to snort so bad… but he did realize he might be uncharitable, unreasonable even… he had no idea, really, what life had been like for Lori during the weeks before he’d come back, back from the dead as far as she was concerned. He could understand the affair, though, maybe even forgive it… but -- and this is where his heart grew harder again -- he had heard her whispers, her schemes, had seen her play both ends against the middle. He’d never understand why. As if there wasn’t enough conflict these days without petty drama.

“I’m _going_ to bed,” he said. A tiny flicker of interest lit up in Lori’s eyes. 

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It means I’m not coming to bed. I’m not staying here.” His tone was flat. This was effectively the moment of their divorce, and he would’ve wanted to scrape up feelings about it. _I mean, it must hurt, it must feel like a failure, the end of two decades of marriage, right?_

But all he could sense was an empty space where there’d been love at some point. The last of it had just trickled away during the past few weeks, one drop at a time. Rick knew enough to guess it would hit him one day. Just not today. He just wanted it to be officially over.

“What-?”

Rick cut in. “I need you to listen to me very carefully. I don’t want to have to say this twice. Our marriage is over. There aren’t any lawyers around anymore -- well, technically, I guess Andrea… but the legislation and the system are pretty much gone, dontcha think? So I want you to understand that as far as I’m concerned, I am not married to you anymore.”

Lori didn’t say anything. Her eyes were huge as she stared at him.

“You are free to do whatever you want. Hell, you’re free to take up with Shane again if you want, you got a kid coming with him anyway. You want to leave with him tomorrow, that’s ok. Don’t recommend it, though. There’s Carl, and he ain’t leaving anywhere. He stays with me, no matter what. And I know you love him, and he needs his mother. So you’re welcome to stay here, and I will take care of you to the best of my ability. I will. You don’t need to worry about that, ever. You’re the mother of my child, that’s never gonna change, married or not.”

She just kept staring at him. Finally, she opened her mouth but it took a moment to get the words out. Rick expected objections, or curses, or arguments.

“If that’s what you think is best.”

 _Seriously?_ Rick wanted to thump his head against the wall. _Seriously??_

“I don’t know what’s _best_. I only know I can’t be in this relationship anymore. I don’t think you want to be in it, either. Life is hard enough now without dragging along a stale relationship.”

Surprisingly, that got a reaction out of her.

“You got a fresh one with someone?”

Rick met her gaze, unflinching and steady. “Yes I do. You need to be the first one to hear about it. Only fair. I’ll talk to Carl tomorrow.”

A muffled, drowsy voice caught them by surprise.

“You don’t gotta, dad. ‘m not blind.”

Both adults were struck dumb for a moment. Rick shook the shock off and crouched by Carl’s cot, stroked his son’s hair. The boy turned on his back and looked at his dad, a serious look on his young face.

“Wasn’t really asleep yet… then I heard you start talking to mom… ‘m sorry, I know it was a private conversation, but…”

The boy looked genuinely sorry. Rick gave him a small smile. 

“Don’t worry, son.”

“Mom, dad… ‘m not stupid, I know you guys weren’t ok. And Shane…” He swallowed. “Mom, don’t go. Please. Stay with us.”

Lori took a few quick steps and sat on Carl’s cot and kissed his son’s forehead.

“That’s decided then. I’m not going anywhere,” she said, and managed a tiny smile.

“An’ dad… you better tell her now.”

Rick gave him a long, thoughtful look. “Someday, I’d like to know what gave it away.”

Carl huffed, exasperated. “Nobody ever thinks kids know anything! I’ve got eyes, don’t I? Just have to see how you two look at each other. It’s _obvious_!”

“Obvious?” Rick was slightly horrified.

“To me it was. I _know_ you. You’re my _dad_ , for fuck’s sake!”

“Language, Carl!” Lori and Rick scolded in unison.

“Sorry… But you gotta tell her now, dad.”

Lori glanced at Rick. “I think I can guess, there’s not a lot of options around here, after all… but I’d rather hear it, plain and simple,” she said quietly.

For a few seconds, Rick turned words and phrases over in his head, tried out various ways of telling her. 

_Plain and simple, she’d said._

“Daryl.”

Carl only nodded. “He’ll keep you safe.”

“He’ll keep us all safe.” Rick couldn’t keep the smile from his face or the pride from his voice.

He raised his gaze to Lori. 

“I had a hunch. Tried to tell myself it can’t be. You’re straight. You wouldn’t want to… And he’s so… he’s _nothing_.”

“He’s not nothing, he saved dad,” Carl said with a frown.

“I know. I know!” Lori lowered her gaze to her hands. “Obviously, not the only thing I got wrong.” She drew a deep breath. “Ok. Fine. You go to him, and tomorrow… well, I don’t have the energy to worry about that now. Can I be there when you tell the others?”

“I don’t see why not. We’re such a small group, it’s better if these things are out in the open. Prevents people from getting the wrong idea.”

There didn’t seem to be anything more to say. Rick stroked Carl’s hair and pressed a kiss on his cheek. Carl tried to whine “Daaaaad…!” but looked content nevertheless. The leader stood up, gathered his blankets and pillow, said “Good night,” and walked out.

He stopped on the porch. Daryl had left already and Rick stood there, tried to empty his mind and relax. It had gone better than he’d expected but tomorrow was a new day. There had been a lot of ‘ends of eras’ lately, and this was one more. It would hit Lori at some point. It would hit him. And Carl. 

Moonlight glinted on something. He looked down. 

His ring.

He put the blankets and the pillow on the porch railing and looked at the ring more closely. He remembered how it had got there, all those years ago. He remembered how it had felt, a few weeks ago, to get it back. He had missed it during those days after-hospital-before-quarry. Like a piece of him was missing. Like he’d been naked somehow.

Now, it was a foreign object on his body. He didn’t want it anymore; it didn’t belong to him anymore. And yet…

He ran a fingertip over the smooth band.

_An end of yet another era._

He slid the ring off his finger and dropped in his jeans pocket.

_The start of a new one?_

  
  



	8. Combustion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, it's Friday :) Another chapter for you lovelies <3 Enjoy, and have a great weekend!

Daryl had set up another cot. “It’s Merle’s. Comes in handy now,” he explained when Rick quirked an eyebrow about the second camp bed. Rick put his blankets and pillow on the bed and sat down. Daryl sat on his; the beds were close, their knees bumped together.

“So…?” Daryl’s eyes darted to Rick’s and down to their knees. His hands rested on his thighs, a nervous index finger tapping on a knee. Rick put his hand over Daryl’s, grounded the uneasy archer. He waited for the other man to speak.

“Where’s the ring?”

“Not on my finger.”

“Gave it back?”

Rick smiled quickly. “No, nothing so dramatic. Put it in my pocket. Could’ve thrown it away but I guess I thought maybe Carl might want to have it. I’ll ask tomorrow. If not, then it’s just scrap metal.”

“What did ya tell her?”

“That we’re not married anymore. That she’s free to do whatever she wants to.” Rick brushed Daryl’s knuckles lightly. He didn’t want Daryl to feel bad about the next part. “I told her I’ll always take care of her if she decides to stay with the group.”

Daryl nodded. “Of course ya will. She’s Carl’s mom.”

Rick was relieved.

“I told her there’s someone… and then Carl revealed he’d been awake the whole time and that he knew who that someone was.”

Daryl’s hand twitched under Rick’s palm. 

“He seems to be ok with it. I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about. Lori took it surprisingly well, too. Tomorrow we’ll talk to the others. There’s been enough secrets already. I think they were what broke the group in the first place.”

Daryl turned his hand over; they were holding hands. His voice was low, his shoulders hunched.

“I hope ya don’t regret this… leavin’ Lori… I ain’t got...I ain’t never done this, this relationship stuff, I dunno if I know how...don’t exactly got stellar role models, y’know.”

“Daryl,” Rick said, very serious now, “I believe it would’ve happened anyway. It wasn’t all sunshine an’ roses even before all this, y’know. This thing with Shane, the baby, the way Lori’s been acting… it’s got nothing to do with you.”

Rick leaned forward, put his hand on Daryl’s neck and brought their heads together, smelled the leather and the cigarettes, and his heart fluttered hopefully.

“If there’s one good thing in all this chaos, it’s you, Daryl. D’you know what Carl said when I confirmed it was you? He said that you’ll keep me safe. And that’s true, an’ not just saving-my-ass kind of safe. I _function_ better with you by my side. I see more clearly. I didn’t want to be the leader but now I am, and I know I’ll be a _better_ leader when you’re there, _with_ me. I’m _stronger_ with you. So tell me, what’s there to regret?”

He rubbed Daryl’s neck gently and moved his head, just a little, just enough to skim his lips over Daryl’s. Rick was hypersensitive, the scratch of Daryl’s short beard lit up the sparks all over his skin, and the fire roared as Daryl’s eager lips kissed him back.

It was slow at first. Disorienting, somehow, to be _free_ to kiss, to see where this thing might go, to explore what this meant for the two of them. 

Rick forgot they weren’t twenty anymore, and it took a painful twinge in his lower back to remind him. Daryl must have sensed him wince; he drew back and cocked an eyebrow. Rick grimaced.

“Sorry. ‘s my back.”

Daryl sniffed. “Should’ve guessed. This what it’s gonna be for me now -- gotta take care of ya. Serves me right for likin’ an older dude.”

Rick chuckled, and punched the other man lightly on the shoulder. “You better respect your elders.”

Daryl’s mouth twitched, and Rick heard an amused little huff. Daryl’s hands had ended up on Rick’s thighs at some point, and now the archer moved them up and gripped Rick’s shoulders, tilted his head and looked into Rick’s eyes. There was a question there, one without words this time.

Rick was still running his fingertips on Daryl’s neck. His answer to the hunter’s silent question was a tiny tug; Daryl grazed his lip with his teeth, and a flash of worry flew across his face. Then his eyes lowered to Rick’s lips, and Rick didn’t plan on doing it, licking his lips, it was a _reaction_ \-- Jesus, the man’s gaze was hungry! -- and the worry vanished and Daryl pushed him down on the cot and followed him, fluid like a feline.

The cot squeaked under the weight of two grown men, but Rick couldn’t possibly have cared less. If the frickin’ cot decided to collapse under them, so be it. He was much more interested in the solid body _on_ him.

“‘m crushin’ ya?” Daryl was leaning on his elbows and watched Rick like a hawk. Almost as if he was desperately trying to figure out what could go wrong. So certain something _would_. Teetering between fragile hope and a lifetime’s worth of distrust. 

“Nah, I like how you feel,” Rick murmured. He pulled the other man closer, invited him to put his whole weight on Rick’s body. “Don’t mind bein’ crushed a little.”

Daryl let himself rest on Rick, hesitated a fraction of a second, and kissed him, featherlight. Rick flicked his tongue on Daryl’s lower lip and _felt_ more than heard the deep growl. It resonated on his lips, on his chest, vibrated down to all sorts of places that took immediate notice. Daryl’s fingers sunk into Rick’s hair, and it was such an intimate touch, possessive almost, and then Daryl _ground_ into him and Rick’s whole body went on high alert in all the best ways.

He opened his legs, and Daryl settled there between his thighs. Rick had never felt anything like this, not even close. Lori was slender, she’d never _engulfed_ him like that, had never even tried. Daryl’s fingers tangled in his hair, tugged at them, and the gasp that escaped Rick triggered a breathless chuckle and Daryl’s mouth ventured on Rick’s jawline, on his neck. Daryl’s hand skimmed down Rick’s side, back and forth, and it sure as hell didn’t _tickle_ \-- the palm pressed against him hard, the fingers dug into him through his t-shirt and flannel.

Rick whimpered. He couldn’t help it, he was overwhelmed.

Daryl stopped, his breath stuttered. “I ain’t hurtin’ ya?” His voice was full of lust, tinged with a faint edge of worry.

A million answers flashed through Rick’s head. _No, you’re not. Don’t worry. I can take care of myself. I don’t mind a little pain_ \-- and wasn’t that one a surprise to him! 

Nothing seemed to be just right. Daryl was swaying between trust and distrust -- and it most likely had nothing to do with Rick. There was still so much he didn’t know about the hunter. There were clues, though, and Rick was a deputy and not completely inept at piecing those clues together.

Rick put his arms around the other man and held him. He rubbed Daryl’s back, caressed him firmly. Daryl had raised his head and was looking Rick straight in the eye. Rick returned the gaze and put all the fondness and friendship and pure _like_ that he felt towards the man in it. He smiled, and a corner of Daryl’s mouth quirked in answer.

“I’ll make a deal with ya,” Rick said.

“Yeah?”

“Anything happens here that you don’t like, you tell me. And anything happens that _I_ don’t like, I’ll tell you. Ok?”

Daryl didn’t answer right away. Then his eyes darted away and back, and he mumbled, “Ok.”

Rick frowned. There was something wrong with that ok.

“Can I trust you, Daryl?”

Daryl tilted his head and looked baffled.

“Of course ya can. What’s with the question?”

“Can I trust you to tell me if something we do here together is not ok with you?”

The tiny moment of hesitation was answer enough. Rick sighed. His earlier thoughts came back to him: decades of mistrust based on bitter experience couldn’t be erased in a week.

He threaded his fingers through Daryl’s short hair and pulled him down for a kiss. Daryl tasted like apples, and coffee, and cigarettes, and it was exciting and safe, all at the same time. 

Lord knew Rick’s track record of romantic relationships wasn’t the greatest -- and he couldn’t, in all honesty, put all the blame on Lori, either -- but he’d work his ass off on this one. He had a feeling the man he held in his arms -- this strong, brave, loyal hunter -- had already been hurt enough to last him a lifetime.

“I need to trust you’d tell me,” he mumbled in Daryl’s mouth. “This is supposed to be good for both of us. Won’t be good for me if it ain’t good for you.”

He _heard_ the doubt, the hesitation, the unformed words of Daryl’s thoughts. He heard the echo of their first discussion in this tent. _“Haven’t been asked that a lot.”_ What he wanted. What he didn’t want.

Rick felt something black and burning ripple under his skin. He calmed himself down. This wasn’t the time or the place. Most of him was under a flood of lust and...other...feelings for Daryl. And that was the part he wanted to follow tonight.

The other part, the part where the noxious fumes were swirling, awakening a savage beast with cold eyes and a murder in its heart… that part was for tomorrow. Tomorrow, he’d spend an hour chopping wood, imagining that the logs were the people who’d made Daryl believe he wasn’t worthy of respect. Who’d made him believe that stating his wishes would just cause people to turn their backs on him. Or worse.

It was frightening to realize, right there and then -- as they were kissing, as he felt the silky strands of Daryl’s hair and the flex of the muscles on his back, as Daryl’s fingers were coasting Rick’s collarbone -- that he’d have no compunction about aiming his Python at any one of those people and pulling the trigger. He still didn’t know if he could’ve executed Randall. But he hadn’t a shadow of a doubt what he’d do if he came across people who’d hurt Daryl.

They stopped for air. 

“Remember, I want you to speak your mind. What you think, and feel. Not just outside this tent -- inside, too. Always.”

Daryl watched him. Rick sensed the walls wavering, hope and trust gaining ground again, like winning a tug-of-war.

“I know it’s a lot to ask… Please, trust me.”

It was the silliest thing to ask a person. Just like that, ‘trust me’. Trust was built, slowly, day by day, deed by deed. It couldn’t be commanded. But Rick didn’t know how else to put it.

The hunter nodded. Not the usual quick jerk of the head. This one was unhurried and serious.

“Gonna try. That good enough for ya?”

Rick flashed a small smile. “We’ll build from there.” And he didn’t need to pull Daryl down for a kiss, the man lowered his mouth on Rick’s on his own.

The weight of their words had distracted their bodies, but it didn’t take long until Rick felt Daryl’s hard cock against his own again. Their touches grew more insistent, their kisses more heated. Rick’s hands drifted along Daryl’s back, paused at the waistband, traveled further south and gripped Daryl’s hips. He rocked his pelvis against Daryl’s, and the other man reciprocated, and Rick stopped analyzing and overthinking.

Rick’s world was the rustle of clothes and the squeak of the cot. It was the ragged breathing, subdued groans and breathy whimpers. It was the way Daryl tasted, the way his hips moved, the way his hand ventured on Rick’s jeans and tugged the shirt from under the waistband, the way his fingers felt when they reached the sensitive skin on Rick’s hipbone.

“This ok?” Daryl rumbled as he lightly raked Rick’s skin. His mouth glided over Rick’s cheek and nipped on his earlobe. The leader shivered. He breathed a quiet “Yes”.

He didn’t think, his hands acted on their own as they loosened their grip on Daryl’s hips and dove under Daryl’s shirt and touched the warm skin of his back. 

Daryl gasped and tensed up. “Don’t!”

Rick froze. The tone was absolute. Not angry -- just a brick wall which Rick had collided into at 100 miles per hour.

He drew his hands away, nice and slow. Daryl held his breath, then whispered, “Shit…’m sorry.”

_Time to put your money where your mouth is._

Hands safely on Daryl’s shirt again, Rick rubbed him gently, and smiled at the anxious archer.

“Don’t apologize, ok? Ain’t necessary. You don’t want me to touch you there -- check.”

The look in Daryl’s eyes was half incredulous, half amazed. Then the man sprang into action, fucking _growled_ , and crashed his mouth on Rick’s, and the grind of his hips was fierce and determined. Lightning bolts flashed in Rick’s eyes, he fisted Daryl’s hair and _pulled_ , and he nipped and licked his way to Daryl’s neck, his arm tight around the man. He bit down where Daryl’s neck and shoulder met, and the younger man shuddered. 

“Fuck… I ain’t gonna last, man,” Daryl panted in his ear.

“Mmhm,” Rick hummed, too far gone to form actual words let alone coherent thoughts, and sucked at the hunter’s _frickin’ delicious_ skin.

“Goddamnit,” Daryl moaned. He raised his hips. 

Rick knew the sound that escaped him at the loss of the exquisite friction really didn’t befit a man in his forties.

“Ain’t goin’ away,” breathed Daryl. His hand wormed its way between their bodies and settled on Rick’s belt. He looked at Rick. Even in the dim glow of a lantern Daryl’s eyes seemed to sparkle blue light from within. Rick heard -- with his ears? with his mind? -- Daryl’s voice. _“Wanna touch ya. ‘s ok? Ya want it?”_

Rick nodded. Then he moved his own hands, first to Daryl’s sides, then glided them on his waistband. He quirked an eyebrow. _“You ok with this, too?”_

Daryl bit his lip and grunted a yes, his nails scraping Rick’s buckle, knuckles brushing on Rick’s skin, sending sparks everywhere.

This wasn’t Rick’s first time undressing someone, but it had been decades since his hands had shaken like this. Finally he managed to unbutton the jeans, and the whirr of the zip sounded unnaturally loud to his ears. The sound was followed by another one just like it, and Daryl started to tug Rick’s jeans down. There was a short, heated wiggle, sprinkled with short chuckles; the cot creaked and wobbled but didn’t give up on them, and Rick sent a silent thank you to the manufacturer, wherever they were now.

Daryl’s fingers wrapped around Rick’s cock, delicately at first, like he still couldn’t believe this was happening. Rick’s hands froze on Daryl’s hips, he held his breath, saw Daryl’s head tilt down, and realized the man was watching how his hand moved on Rick’s cock. _Fuck. Fuck!! Daryl’s_ **_watching_** _. That’s goddamn hot! And his hand… oh shit..._

“Daryl…” Rick was wrecked, absolutely destroyed, and he hadn’t even touched the hunter yet, they had barely started! Daryl’s grip was surer now, his hand moved firmly on Rick’s cock, rolled his thumb over the head, collected precum, spread it, made the glide smooth and slick.

The hunter glanced at Rick, licked his lip. “Feel alright?” The tug-of-war still swaying between shaky and confident.

Rick felt the coarse pubic hair on his fingers. He moved his hand down, past Daryl’s hard, twitching cock, and cupped Daryl’s heavy sack and rolled it in his palm, let the tips of his fingers brush the sensitive area behind them, and fought to _not_ come at the small cry Daryl let out.

“I’m fuckin’ _fine_ ,” Rick growled, and touched another man’s cock for the first time in his life, and it didn’t feel weird at all, ‘cause it was _Daryl_. This was the man who could frickin’ _read his mind_ , and was safe and tough and untamed, and Rick loved to touch him, to enjoy the sparks freely, to feel the crackle and lightning everywhere. 

Rick started stroking Daryl. The hunter’s hand stuttered, then found the same rhythm. Rick’s gaze flitted between Daryl’s face and the goddamn vision between their bodies. It didn’t take long, in fact Rick thought it was a wonder he’d lasted even that far -- and then the pleasure burst over the edge and his whole body arched from the sheer bliss of it. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck…” Daryl’s shaky voice blabbed curses, and Rick felt his shirt become even more wet as the hunter shuddered above him and all but collapsed on top of Rick, his hot breath warming Rick’s neck.

It felt so fucking good just to lie there, feel the other man’s body heavy and relaxed on him. Rick brought his free hand to touch Daryl’s hair, ran his fingers through the short messy locks, and sensed how their racing hearts started to calm down. Daryl’s lips brushed against his skin, traveled on his cheek, and Rick turned his head just a tiny bit, enough to let their mouths meet in a blissed-out little kiss.

“That was… good. ‘s always this good?” The wonder in Daryl’s voice brought a smile on Rick’s face.

“My first time with a guy so can’t say for sure,” Rick smirked. “Though sex with someone you like, that’s rarely _not_ good, so…”

Rick felt Daryl’s lips curve into a smile. Then, “Ugh, ‘s messy…” Daryl raised himself a bit, looked at Rick’s cum-soaked shirt and their hands, still resting on Rick’s belly.

“That it is,” Rick said. “Worth it, though.”

Daryl got up and came back with a bottle of water and a towel that had seen better days. They cleaned up as best they could, and Rick took off the soiled t-shirt. Daryl rummaged in one of his bags and threw a shirt at the older man.

“Here. So ya won’t freeze.”

“Thanks.” Rick sat on his cot, Daryl’s shirt on his lap, and felt all energy drain out. Rick tried to list everything that had happened since they’d woken up in the morning. It was a fucking _long_ list, and most of it not good. 

But there’d been some nice things, though. Rick’s eyes followed Daryl as the other man strolled to his cot, stretched, lay down under the blanket, and looked at Rick.

 _And what a nice thing this was._ Rick smiled at Daryl; the hunter’s head was pillowed on his arm and he quirked his mouth.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, man?” The question came out in Daryl’s gruff voice, but Rick thought… he was almost sure… it could be within the realm of possibility that there was also a tiny note of flirtation.

Daryl would deny any such thing to his dying day, so Rick didn’t bother commenting on it.

“Well, y’know, there’s this real good-looking guy-”

“Stop…” But there was laughter in Daryl’s voice.

They smiled at each other for a few heartbeats. Then Daryl sobered.

“Ya still ok with this?”

“Didn’t suddenly turn NOT ok,” Rick said, nonplussed. “I know all this seems sudden, but I didn’t just wake up yesterday and decide to leave my wife and jump in bed with you. Like I said, me and Lori… life’s too hard right now as it is, and I don’t think either of us wanted to fight for the marriage. And you…”

“Yeah, me. What the hell, man? I ain’t no prize, y’know.”

“I beg to differ,” Rick said and chuckled. 

Daryl turned on his side, leaned his head on his palm and looked at Rick long and hard.

“‘s weird, y’know… before, I just kinda always tagged along with Merle... I ain’t never been one to make friends. Ain’t never been nobody who just wanted to talk with _me_ , y’know. With ya it’s been, dunno… easy, I guess. After all the shit in Atlanta, who’d’ve known, right?” Daryl paused to think. “And all the other...stuff. Ain’t never had that either. I mean, you’d think somethin’ like this wouldn’t have any place now but…”

Daryl looked like he was searching for words. Rick suggested his own.

“...but it’s even more important. There are so many lows, it’s like the highs are more...pointed. Just look at us, or Maggie and Glenn, or you and Carol for that matter. Friendships on fast forward, and relationships developing like it’s condensed.”

Rick dropped on his knees by Daryl’s cot. He _had_ to touch the man, he needed it. He brushed Daryl’s cheek with his knuckles, and settled his hand on the hunter’s upper arm. Warmth radiated through Daryl’s shirt.

“Love in the trenches. It’s risky. You a gambling man, Dixon?”

  
  



	9. Condensation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the start of a new week, and the time for another chapter :)

“Dad? Dad, you awake?”

A soft, hesistant voice penetrated the wall of sleep, and Daryl cracked open an eye. Had that been a dream or was-

“Dad?”

Daryl opened both his eyes and propped himself up on his elbow. The other cot stayed silent; Rick was buried under the blanket, his dark curls the only thing Daryl saw of him. His heart did a funny little skip -- did yesterday really happen? All of it? The kisses and...things…?

“Dad?”

“Yeah, kid,” Daryl said quietly, his voice rough from sleep. “Ya can come in.”

The whirr of the zipper didn’t wake Rick up, either. Carl peeked in first, then took a few cautious steps into the tent.

“Dad still asleep?” he asked, astonished. 

Daryl ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed his head. “Yesterday was kind of… hard, y’know. Your dad’s tired, ‘s all.”

He felt Carl’s eyes on him. _Good thing this ain’t awkward at all…_

“So… you and dad.”

“Guess so.” Daryl sneaked a peek at the boy. Carl still stood at the doorway, his face unreadable. He was still just a boy, a few months short of a teenager, but Daryl could see Rick in him, in the way the kid held himself. “Ya ok with that? Don’t think it’s too weird, or anythin’?” A faint blush crept on Daryl’s face.

“Weird?” Carl snorted, his tone way older than his years. “You seriously asking me that? These past ten days alone,” he started counting with his fingers, “there’s been a barnful of walkers, an’ dad put down zombie-Sophia, an’ you beat the crap outta Randall just to get him to talk, an’ Andrea shot you -- and what was it with the necklace of walker ears, anyway? -- an’ my dad almost executed a guy, an’ a corpse ate Dale, an’ Uncle Shane tried to kill dad, and… wait, did I forget something?” Carl’s tone was sarcastic. “And you’re _seriously_ asking me if you and dad liking each other qualifies as _weird?_ Isn’t even in the top twenty…”

Daryl tried hard to suppress a smile. Carl was an ok kid.

The boy stepped closer and sat on Daryl’s cot. Watched his sleeping father. He was serious now.

“Was it Randall? I mean… Shane… if dad had killed Randall, y’know, in the barn… would Shane…?”

Daryl gnawed on his lip. How did he get into these situations with the Grimes men?

“What d’you think? Would it be better now if your dad had shot that kid? Would we be ok? Shane happy? Your dad happy?”

Carl turned to look at him. “I told dad to kill him.”

“Did ya mean it?”

“Guess so…” A flash of something, _fear?_ , went over Carl’s face. “That was bad, wasn’t it?”

 _God, I hope this Grimes ain’t needin’ no sugarcoatin’ neither…_ “Well it sure as hell wasn’t _good_. ‘m guessin’ ya know it, too.”

Carl swallowed.

“Hey kid… ya made a mistake. Wasn’t your first an’ ain’t gonna be your last. That’s how ya learn.” Daryl ruffled Carl’s hair briefly; that kind of spontaneous touch was awkward and unfamiliar, but he felt it was needed now.

“Don’t think it would’ve helped either, killing Randall like that… your Uncle Shane, he’s in a bad place right now, an’ it ain’t a one big thing he’s got against your dad, it’s dozens of little ones, piling up.”

“Mom…?”

“Yeah, your mom… but it ain’t just that, kiddo, an’ honestly? Does it matter? Your dad did nothin’ to Shane except disagree with him, and Shane’s solution was to shoot his best friend an’ brother? That ain’t right. Hell, I disagree with Merle all the fuck...frickin’ time, but we ain’t shot each other yet. Punched a few times, I’ll give ya that, ‘cause he can be a right asshole most of the time, but I ain’t never tried to _kill_ him.”

Carl’s smile was weak, but it was a smile nevertheless. 

“So… you like my dad?”

The blush on Daryl’s face wasn’t faint anymore.

“Kinda, yeah.”

“He likes you a lot,” Carl stated with a firm voice.

“An’ ya know this how? Your acute powers of perception?” Daryl was amused. Hell, he was sort of starting to really like this kid.

Carl stuck out his tongue at Daryl. “Don’t need those, just regular eyes. He talked about you last night, he was so proud of you, you should’ve heard it... And he’s... _relaxed_ around you, wasn’t like that even with mom for a long time.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Not your fault. I guess it was their fault, they should’ve done something. But, y’know, it ain’t so bad-”

“Isn’t.”

“Did you not hear what I said? _A frickin’ corpse ate Dale,_ and you’re correcting my _grammar_?”

“Your mom an’ dad ain’t gonna appreciate it if ya start soundin’ like a backwoods redneck.”

Carl giggled. Daryl smiled back at him. “So, you were gonna say…?”

“It isn’t so bad, I think… mom’s gonna stay with us, an’ maybe they’ll be nicer to each other now, ‘cause they don’t have to _try_ so hard… An’ I like you. You’re...different...than I thought. Back in Atlanta.”

Daryl looked at the boy. He sure as hell hadn’t been that level-headed at the tender age of twelve. Carl might be just a kid, temperamental, with a hefty dose of preteen angst -- but who could blame him? Shit, how he wasn’t full on mental by this time, that was the real question. A testament of the good job Lori and Rick had done raising him up, ‘s what it was.

“Yeah. Well. A lot of things have happened since Atlanta.”

Rick’s drowsy voice cut in. “Carl? Did you come to just wake us up, or do you come bearing good news about coffee?”

The rest of the man emerged from under the blankets, dark locks sleep-mussed, eyes crinkled in smile. Daryl’s gaze zeroed in on the other man’s mouth, then glided down to the bare arm resting on the blanket, down, down, over the wrist watch to the long fingers tapping rhythmically on Rick’s thigh. The guarded hunter fought against a surge of emotion. He’d kissed that mouth last night, felt it on himself, on his neck, nipping on his earlobe. Those arms had held him, those fingers had wrapped around his cock and, wow… And then, later, had touched him, skimmed over his skin over and over again, and Daryl had fallen asleep like that. 

He blinked. He only just now realized it: yes, he’d fallen asleep to Rick’s caresses. 

Carl and Rick were talking -- he watched the father and son, and tried to find some fuckin’ zen within himself. Something weird was going on in there. He saw Rick’s fingers curl on the blanket and grasp it -- his abdomen contracted, his dick twitched; he saw Rick’s lips curve into a smile -- his heart lurched and the emotion was too big, almost painful.

Decades without paying too much notice to anything his body might crave, or what his heart might need. Decades without enough trust to let himself _want_ something, let alone some _one_.

It was all starting to come out. _Literally,_ Daryl snorted in his mind. _But this ain’t the time. We have a job to do. Some trash to take out_ , he thought viciously. But after…

***

When Carl had sat on Daryl’s cot, the bunk bed had creaked just enough to bump Rick out of his dreams. The low voices of his son and his hunter inched their way to his consciousness, and there he was, listening to them talk. _This is what it had been like for Carl yesterday, the accidental eavesdropping._

Rick let them know he was awake. Carl jumped on his cot. “You ok, dad?”

“You don’t have to worry, son, I’m fine.”

Carl looked at him and pursed his lips. “I bet you’re lying ‘cause I’m a kid.” Rick raised his eyebrow. “I mean, you _can’t_ be ok. Because of Shane. And maybe mom, too. But you gotta be all tough ‘cause you’re an adult. Right?”

Rick heard a small snort; Daryl was putting on his boots and trying to hide a grin.

“Your kid ain’t stupid, man.”

“Hunh. Ok then. I guess you’re right, Carl. Could be I’m not ok. It’ll take some time to process what happened yesterday. But the point is that I’m _gonna_ be ok. I’ve every reason to, y’know. I’ve got you,” Rick nudged Carl on his arm and jerked his head at Daryl, “an’ I’ve got Mr Dixon, too.”

Carl sniggered. “ _Mr Dixon_ …”

“Hey, watch that tone!” A sock -- clean, thank God -- smacked into Carl’s back, and the boy laughed out loud. Rick looked at Daryl and an ocean of gratitude rolled through him. Daryl had made Carl laugh, twice already this morning, if he’d heard correctly. The boy had precious little to laugh about these days -- none of them had. 

Maybe it was the shortness of time that got to him. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that it had been less than a month that he’d met most of these people. A few ridiculous weeks, and he’d lost a friend and gained a new one, and lost a marriage and gained a...did this thing with Daryl even have a name? Did it matter? He could count with his fingers the days they’d been friends, but time now wasn’t time like it had been before. Days flowed one into another, without any markers, without anything to separate workdays from weekends. Suddenly Rick wondered how long it would take until they lost all idea of what day of the week it was. How long it would take to lose the last remnant of any _need_ to know it? So what did it matter how many weeks he’d known these people? Shit, in fact he wasn’t even sure of the time -- he hadn’t exactly kept a tally.

This new world was intense. Maybe it made sense that relationships were, too. Everything stripped to bare minimum, no frills. Can you be trusted, yes/no? Are we stronger together, yes/no? Do you have what it takes to stand by my side, no matter what -- yes/no? 

_Is there chemistry? Is looking at him soothing and exciting? Does his touch turn you on..?_

His gaze drifted all over Daryl. He didn’t even realize he’d been staring until Carl waved a hand in front of his eyes and said, exasperated, “Dad! Come on!” and muttered, “embarrassing…!”

Daryl smirked but his ears were crimson.

***

Rick let Carl and Daryl walk ahead; he needed to clear his mind before he met the others. Hershel, Glenn and Carol, and the whole what-we-gonna-do-with-the-virus thing. Lori and the end of marriage. Shane and...whatever.

Daryl.

_“Love in the trenches. It’s risky. You a gambling man, Dixon?”_

The hunter hadn’t answered in words, not even in the silent ones. He’d been drowsy and relaxed under Rick’s touch. A smile had tugged his mouth, his hand had wandered to cup Rick’s face, he’d glided his fingers behind Rick’s neck and pulled him closer, pressed their foreheads together. And that, for Rick, had been the answer.

So, how was he so hung up on the number of days they’d known each other? He’d known Lori was the one for him the second he’d laid his eyes on her, junior year in high school. Despite the last few heavier years, despite how it ended, it had nevertheless been a good marriage. 

He smiled to himself, trudging up the porch stairs. Apparently, he didn’t so much _fall_ in love as _crash_ in it.

Apparently, he was a gambling man, too.

  
  



	10. Substitution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the tenth chapter, my dears :)
> 
> HEADS UP: I’ve got to give you a fair warning. I’ve made a mess of my original plans for the total amount of chapters for this fic. I’m truly sorry, but this fic will have more than 15 chapters.   
> It’s not that I didn’t know how the story would go and where it would end at the time I started publishing this -- it’s just that I grossly underestimated the amount of words it would need to get there… (what can I say -- I’m wordy!). I don’t want to do 18k chapters just to keep an arbitrary estimate of the original 15 chapters. Also, it would seriously damage the rhythm of the story.   
> So: at the moment, I’ve got 14 chapters ready for publishing. Three more are finished but unbeta’d. I’m working on nbr 18, about half way through, and I think nbr 19 will be the final chapter. I will not, however, change the total nbr here just yet, just in case. It’s embarrassing enough to have to do it once -- I won’t risk having to do it twice… So I want to be absolutely certain that it's 19 (or 20) by the time I change the number.
> 
> This is the first time I’ve ever tried publishing a w.i.p. -- suffice to say it has been a learning experience…! I’m not altogether sure that this method is good for my nerves :D 
> 
> Again, sorry!!!!

They were late for breakfast; everyone else was already on their second cup of coffee by the time the three of them entered the dining room. Even Shane was there, with Carol standing behind him, a coffee cup in one hand and a revolver in the other. She looked firm and polite and alert -- very different from the frail, gasping woman from last evening. 

Lori’s gaze followed Rick from the moment he stepped in. Rick gave her a small nod, picked up a mug full of black coffee, and went to lean on the wall by Daryl’s side. It seemed that neither of them were ready to sit at the same table as Shane. Rick noticed Lori’s eyes flicking back and forth between him and Daryl. Lori made a valiant effort to look indifferent, but the coldness directed at Daryl was obvious to Rick.

The conversation was stilted -- the presence of Shane threw everyone off their stride. 

“Ain’t this cozy?” muttered Daryl in a low voice. He put down his mug on a side table and crossed his arms. Rick turned his head slightly to look at the other man. Daryl’s eyes wandered from one person to another, stayed a little longer on Carol, appreciation evident on his face. “Carol’s different,” he continued. “Thought ya were crazy last night, invitin’ her, but the lady might have some hidden qualities.”

Daryl glanced at Rick; they shared a second’s worth of silent conversation, and then Rick cleared his throat, looked at the others, nodded again at Lori, and pushed himself off the wall to stand straight in front of the group who were now all looking at him.

“In an hour, we’ll leave with Shane. Carol, d’you mind putting together some provisions? And we won’t be leaving him without any means of defending himself, so T-Dog, would you check what we could spare him? And when we’re back, I need to talk to Hershel, Carol and Glenn, ok?”

Nods and a few whispers accompanied the small pause. Hershel moved as if to scoot back his chair and leave the table. Rick raised his hand.

“A moment, please. Lori and I have something to tell you. Lori?” He looked at her, extended a wordless invitation to come stand by him if she so wished. Lori shook her head, clasped her hands on the table, and gave a wooden smile to the group. The others looked puzzled.

Rick had no idea how to go about this. Yesterday, _plain and simple_ had served the purpose well. Maybe something similar would work now, as well.

“We just thought it’s best that y’all know Lori and I are no longer together. In fact, as I see it, we’re no longer married.”

The group stared at him. Then at Lori. Then back at Rick. 

Rick’s eyes were on Lori. Her jaw tightened, her eyes were dry and flinty as she stared at Daryl. Rick sighed silently. Well, it had been too good to last. And maybe it was only to be expected, the animosity towards Rick’s new partner. It wasn’t like Lori had liked Daryl even before all this, hadn’t trusted the man, hadn’t appreciated his gruff manner, and -- let’s face it -- Lori was a bit of a snob, so there was the ungroomed redneck thing, too, not to mention the fact that he’d shot Shane…

She’ll come around. Rick had to believe that. She’d been ok _(ish)_ for a short time last night. She’d be ok again. Right?

Carol’s calm voice cut in his thoughts.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this... But I’m sure you both know what you’re doing. Thanks for letting us know like this, straight up.” Her gray gaze drifted over to Daryl, and back at Rick. Then she flicked her eyes to Maggie and curved a corner of her mouth into a lopsided smile. “Looks like the Greene kids are now the only ones with romance in their lives.”

Rick heard his heartbeat in his ears. It felt like everyone was staring at him even though, in truth, it was only Carl and Lori -- but their eyes burned into him. _Goddamn you, Carol…_ He couldn’t ignore her words, that would be tantamount to lying. But saying something… it wasn’t only _his_ story to reveal, and-

“Nah, they ain’t.” 

Rick’s heart fluttered at the sound of the hunter’s drawl. He glanced back, saw Daryl, still with his arms crossed, looking at the others. Rick wondered did the others _see_ the man like he did. See how tense and defiant he was under the relaxed posture and calm, gravelly words.

It took him exactly tenth of a second to follow Daryl’s lead. He leaned back on the wall, just one inch closer to Daryl, just enough that their shoulders visibly pressed together.

“Yeah, they ain’t.”

Carl’s piercing stare had morphed into a pleased little smile. Rick was so frickin’ proud of his son he could just burst!

Lori’s eyes, however… well. She’d come around. She would. It’d just take some time.

Maggie smiled mischievously and turned towards her sister and Glenn. “Come on, cough up, those chocolate bars are mine!”

Hershel looked stern, Andrea mildly surprised, T-Dog’s eyebrows were practically on top of his head, and Shane’s eyes all but popped out of their sockets.

 _I feel like a specimen in a circus freak show_ , Rick thought drily. _Enough of this._

“Well, now you know. To those of you who are happy for us -- thanks. We’re happy for us, too. To those of you who _aren’t_ happy for us -- just save it. This ain’t open for debate.” 

Rick took a few steps forward and continued with the no-nonsense officer voice. “Maggie, could you look after Shane while Carol gets the provisions? Hershel, do we have extra bandages or painkillers to give him? T-Dog, the weapons, if you please. Glenn, could you go check all the cars, just in case. We gotta start being more prepared. There’s no telling what kind of people are out there -- Randall’s group included.” Rick paused and rubbed his forehead. “I wish there was a good place to keep a lookout. The windmill isn’t any good, it’s isolated and there’s no place to stand.”

Everyone had started moving, they all had their daily routines. Rick turned to Daryl and noticed Carl had beat him to it; the boy was talking and waving his hands, and Daryl was as close to laughing out loud as Rick had ever seen him.

“Nah, ya can’t.”

“But if you teach me...why wouldn’t you teach me?”

“Ain’t about that, kid… it’s that ya _can’t_ , like, _physically_ can’t.”

That cleared it up for Rick. He felt a smile tug his mouth. It seemed that whereas Carl had shied away from an aloof, grumpy archer, he had no problem approaching _his dad’s boyfriend_.

“Carl, he’s right. You gotta wait a few years and work real hard first. Maybe then you’ve built enough muscle to cock the crossbow. It’s not just the shooting with it, y’know.”

Carl looked indignant but before he had time to say anything, Beth’s mellow voice cut in. “Rick, Daryl… about the lookout…”

They turned to look at the girl. Rick tilted his head, and Beth took that as an invitation to continue.

“What about the roof of the house? Dad doesn’t like me going there, says it’s not safe, but me and Maggie have been going there our whole lives… it’s a nice place to think in peace, and you can see everywhere from up there. It’s not the comfiest place to sit, by the chimney, but I think it’d be ok for short watches. A couple of hours at a time.” Beth glanced at his father. “It’s not for everyone I guess… there used to be a fixed ladder but it broke last summer and nobody thought to replace it… but with a bit of wiggling from an upstairs window it’s doable.”

Rick and Daryl looked at each other. _“Worth checking out?”_ asked Daryl’s gaze.

Carl piped up, eager to show his worth. “I could go see if it’s good enough, dad. Can I go? Beth can show me the way, then we’ll see what we see. Can I? Dad?”

Amused at his son’s enthusiasm -- which had nothing whatsoever to do with the chance of being with Beth, of course not! -- Rick decided to let him do it.

“Ok, you go with Beth. Check every direction, see if there’s any blindspots, and think if there’s a way to protect the lookout from the sun or rain. Go now, so that me and Daryl can hear the results before we leave.”

Beth smiled at Carl; the boy tried to keep his cool and flicked the rim of his deputy hat, and the kids left upstairs.

“Would you go get a car for us? I’ll put some stuff together. We’re gonna need some food and water… best case scenario, it’ll take us four, five hours until we’re back here.”

Daryl nodded and left; just before he turned to leave, his eyes flicked over Rick’s shoulder at something, and then sent a steady message to Rick. _“Good luck with that…”_

Rick sighed and turned. He wasn’t surprised to see Lori still sitting at the otherwise empty table. He waited for her to speak first.

He had to wait for a long time.

“You had to humiliate me like that,” Lori finally snapped.

“Humiliate how?”

“Coming in here with _him_...so obviously _together_ …”

Rick had to interrupt. This was ridiculous. “It wasn’t ‘obvious’ at all. We _work_ together. How many times I’ve come in or left somewhere with Shane, and we sure as hell weren’t _together_.”

It was like she didn’t hear him. “...and you had to go and tell everyone about your...relationship,” she spat. “Right after you told about us. Now they know you left me because of _him_. Because of a _fucking_ _illiterate woodsman_.” Lori’s beautiful face had an ugly twist to it.

Rick strove to keep his temper in check. _Only to be expected. This is only human. Just try to understand._ It wasn’t easy, however.

“We hadn’t _planned_ on telling the group about us like this. I hadn’t _planned_ on doing that right after my announcement. It’s not like it was deliberate, Lori. But what was I supposed to do after what Carol said? I couldn’t keep quiet, it would’ve meant I accept her words. And the way Carl was looking at me… I’m sorry, Lori, truly I am. Even though Daryl beat me to it, I would’ve told them. Granted, it wasn’t supposed to go down like that. But let’s be honest here… It’s not like it’s news to anyone that we’ve had problems. It’s not news what you and Shane… that you’re pregnant and it ain’t mine. For what it’s worth, I don’t think anyone believes I left you _because_ of Daryl. There are plenty of other reasons to go around.”

Lori winced at that, but surprisingly enough, her expression lost some of its coldness. Rick went on.

“Lori… I get this isn’t an ideal situation, none of this is...an’ I get that you might be angry, or whatever… but I expect you to show basic respect towards Daryl. Whatever your feelings towards him may be, you _will not_ speak of him disrespectfully. He’s worth more than a dozen Shanes. He’s kind and brave and loyal and intelligent, and for your information, he can read plenty good. Like it or not, he’s gonna be a big part of your life, and Carl’s, so the quicker you accept the situation, the better.” 

Rick eyed his ex-wife dispassionately. When he continued, however, his voice was kinder. “And about being a woodsman...y’know, with the way the world is now, we should all learn from Daryl. He’s probably the best equipped to survive these days. Lori, he’s a good man. Carl likes him. Our break-up isn’t Daryl’s fault, and you know it. You’re better than this, Lori, I know you are.”

They looked at one another for a few heartbeats, and then Rick left the room. More talking wouldn’t fix this; Lori had to process the situation in her own mind.

He went to the kitchen where Carol gave him a quick smile as she was gathering items for Shane. Rick didn’t _want_ to feel self-conscious but he did, and maybe that, too, was only to be expected after what had transpired. 

“I already packed a few water bottles and a couple of sandwiches,” Carol said and pointed towards a bag resting on a kitchen chair.

“Thanks.”

“I did it on purpose, by the way. Just thought you should know.” The woman didn’t even bother to look at him. Rick didn’t know what to think of her -- she was certainly more than he’d thought when he’d first met her.

“What a wicked woman you are,” Rick murmured. After all, it wasn’t the sandwiches she was talking about.

“I know. And not even sorry about it. Better to have it over and done with.” Now Carol turned to him. She was unapologetic and stubborn, but there was a glimmer of humor in her eyes. 

_I think I’m starting to understand why Daryl likes her._

“Like ripping off the Band-Aid?”

“Kinda, yeah.” She smirked. Rick smirked right back, grabbed the bag, and left the room.

He went to check on Shane. Maggie was watching him as he was putting on his shirt and jacket; it seemed Hershel had taken one final look at the wound. 

“Let’s go.”

Shane said nothing, just walked past Rick with Maggie and Hershel in tow. When they got to the porch, Carol was already there with a full backpack; T-Dog joined them soon after with a rifle and a knife. Shane eyed them for a moment.

“Ammo?”

“A few dozen rounds.”

Shane grunted. 

“Any idea where you and your boytoy are gonna drop me?” He addressed Rick without looking at him.

Rick wouldn’t be baited.

“Don’t know whatcha mean by toys, but me and Daryl thought we’d go east and drop you off somewhere quiet,” he said with an even tone. Oddly enough, it was easier to handle Shane’s snide remarks than Lori’s sneers. Shane might not have killed Rick, but he sure had succeeded in killing any feelings Rick had had for his oldest friend.

Shane looked like he dearly wanted to elaborate on the subject of boytoys, but what came out was a short groan of pain -- Maggie had poked her rifle into Shane’s back. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” she said with an agreeable tone.

Daryl drove into the yard and stepped out of the car. “Ya ready to go?”

Rick was about to respond when a distraught cry stopped him.

“Dad! Dad! Daryl! Oh shit oh shit oh shit...Dad!”

Rick felt cold all over. What now? “Carl, I’m here, what’s wrong?” he shouted towards the roof. He couldn’t see Carl but he assumed he was somewhere near the chimney, still checking the lookout post.

“It’s walkers, dad, walkers! Oh fuck oh fuck…” The magic word ‘walkers’ and Carl’s terrified tone threw all thought of cautioning Carl about his language far away from Rick’s mind, and Lori -- who’d arrived on the porch at the same time as Daryl had stepped out of the car -- didn’t pay any attention to it either. 

“Daryl?” Rick’s first instinct was to turn to the hunter. Daryl hadn’t been waiting for orders or requests, however; he’d drawn his own conclusions and was already halfway to the roof, clambering expertly along the porch post and swinging himself on the rooftop. In another second he’d vanished from Rick’s view, and then they waited, straining their ears to hear what Carl, Beth and Daryl were saying to each other. The sounds didn’t carry well to the porch which was an unpleasant surprise. Rick ran a few yards further, turned to face the house and peered on the roof. He saw the three of them stand by the chimney, their backs turned on him. Daryl’s gaze seemed to scan the view steadily left to right, right to left. He looked down to the kids, said something to them, too low to let Rick hear anything other than faint murmur, and turned to scale down the roof and the pillar. 

Rick hurried back; the coldness didn’t leave him when he saw Daryl’s tense expression. The expectant faces of everyone were directed at the hunter, and for once Daryl seemed to forget to be uncomfortable in the limelight. That in itself settled an icy rock at the pit of Rick’s stomach.

Daryl chewed on his lip and drew a steadying breath.

“A herd is comin’.”

There were questions, of course -- but Rick put up his hand like a stop sign, silencing the others. He concentrated on keeping his voice calm.

“How big?”

“Big. Hundreds. Along a wide front. They’re comin’ at us from the woods, from behind the house. There’s some comin’ from the east as well but not that many.”

“How long ‘til they get here?”

“Twenty minutes. Twenty-five, tops. Them comin’ from the east will cut us off the road sooner, though. We gotta hurry if we wanna get out.”

Hershel looked aghast. “What do you mean, get out? I’m not leaving anywhere, this is my home! We’ll fight, surely?”

“Don’tcha get it, man?” Daryl snapped. “I said _hundreds_ of ‘em. We can’t fight that many, there’s only seven of us able to fight efficiently. They’ll trample us, walk right over the whole house. Unless there’s a real wellstocked cellar and a tunnel somewhere I don’t know about?”

Hershel looked confused for a moment, unused to being snapped at by anyone, let alone the reticent hunter. Reality was seeping in too slowly, Rick couldn’t wait for Hershel to come to terms with the situation. 

“Glenn, did you check the cars?”

The young man nodded, eyes anxious. “They’re ready. Not too much gas in any of them except for the one you were supposed to drive today, but they’ll get us out of here far enough.”

Rick glanced at Daryl. The archer nodded. That one gesture calmed Rick. This, he can do. Emergency evacuation, nothing more.

With a decisive tone, Rick assigned tasks for each and every one -- Shane included. If he wanted to escape alone under the circumstances, so be it, but Rick trusted that Shane’s self-serving survival instinct would advise him to rather stay in a bigger group. With a few words, Daryl told Rick he’d ordered Carl and Beth to stay on the lookout for a few more minutes, to see how the herd advanced.

He gave everyone exactly ten minutes. Ten minutes for Daryl to pack his tent, for everyone to get their personal stuff together, for Patricia and Carol to get as much food to the RV as possible, for T-Dog and Glenn to gather every single weapon, for Hershel to get his medical equipment and drugs, for Lori and Andrea to collect blankets and warm shawls and towels, for Jimmy to get Beth and Carl from the roof as swiftly as possible. Rick and Daryl went to get the cars closer; luckily the RV was already parked only a few dozen yards from the house, so it was relatively easy to transport goods.

But ten minutes is only ten minutes. As Beth and Carl had now joined the others in ferrying stuff, it took only one look from Rick to get Daryl squirreling up to the roof to get the latest intel.

“We can maybe spare another five minutes. No more,” he stated when he’d come back to the others. Hershel listened to him, with a bag of bandages and painkillers in his hands and tears in his eyes.

“So they’re still coming? We really have to leave?” He was almost pleading.

Daryl looked ready to snap again at the older man, but contained himself at the last second. Rick _saw_ him struggle through the idea that, for Hershel, ‘home’ meant something very different than it had meant for him. Rick _heard_ him stumble upon a surprised realization: _“I can respect that.”_

The hunter’s growl was soft. “Yeah we hafta. Gotta run now to fight another day.”

Everyone did one last mad dash inside the house -- clothes, shoes, jackets, as well as whatever food, flour, oil was left in the kitchen. Maggie ran through the bathrooms and scoured the cupboards for anything useful she could imagine.

The cars were full to the brim when they finally left the house. Rick wasn’t happy that Daryl wouldn’t leave his bike, but he knew better than to start arguing about that. It was Merle’s old Triumph and had value beyond utility, and it might come in handy, as it was more agile than their cars and the RV.

Just in case things went south and they got separated, they’d agreed to meet on the highway by ‘Sophia’s car’, as they called it. But they did have an actual target in mind, one which Jimmy had hesitatingly suggested when Rick had inquired if anyone had any bright ideas where they should be heading. 

“About 30 miles west by a small lake,” he’d said, “there’s an old hunter’s lodge which nobody really uses anymore, except for the local high school kids who sometimes slink there to drink and party.” Jimmy had thrown a sideglance at Hershel but the man was too upset about leaving his house to pay attention to the faint blush that had appeared on Beth and Maggie’s cheeks.

They stopped for a spell on a small hill, just before the road dove into the woods. It had been Daryl’s idea, and Rick had approved. Hershel was in agony over the family house -- he needed to see the threat with his own eyes, they owed him that much. 

The old man climbed slowly on top of the RV with Maggie, and after a moment’s reflection Rick followed them. They watched in silence as the herd approached the farm, drawing closer like a swarm of ants, too numerous to count, inevitable, unstoppable.

Hershel didn’t utter a word. He climbed down the ladder and trudged back to the car which he shared with Carol and Patricia. He settled behind the wheel, wiped a tear from his cheek, and focused his eyes with difficulty to Rick who’d followed him. Hershel nodded and started the car.

Rick waved his hand in a circle; everybody returned to their vehicles. Glenn started the motor and the RV lumbered on, with Jimmy, Beth and Maggie in it, leading them all. Some of the walkers had turned towards the sound of multiple motors, but the group would lose them soon enough.

Maggie’s Hyundai followed the RV with Andrea, Lori and Carl. Rick was driving Hershel’s Chevy with Shane riding shotgun, which was kind of ironic seeing as T-Dog sat behind Shane and had a shotgun aimed at him through the front seat. Otis’s old pick-up had Hershel at its wheel, and Daryl was trailing after them all. He had their backs, as always.

  
  



	11. Detonation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m posting today’s chapter a bit earlier than usual -- it’s still morning here (11 am) -- because it’s FRIDAY and that means the tenth annual movie marathon! What, you may ask, the hell does that mean? Well, I and two friends of mine started this in 2011 -- a whole weekend of movies, 4-6 various kinds of movies or, like last year, all 8 Harry Potter films. We watch them and talk talk talk and talk some more, analyze, have loads of opinions, just revel in the movie wonderland :) In a few hours my friends will be here and we’ll get started. We decided that as this is a sort of a 10-year anniversary, we’ll celebrate it by watching the same trilogy that got us started 10 years ago: The Lord of the Rings <3 As a bonus feature, we’ll watch The Boondock Saints, which surely offers rather a different kind of perspective on the battle of good and evil ;) (Also, it has Norman Reedus in it, so………….)
> 
> Have a great weekend, and enjoy the chapter 11 :)

The RV led them along winding little back roads and avoided the town, just in case Randall’s group was setting its base there. Once, they had to stop to move aside a few collided cars that still had snarling walkers in them. Beth took one look at the contents of a small red sedan, turned away and buried her face in Jimmy’s chest. Daryl didn’t say anything, just glanced at the girl, stepped between her and the car, and ended the growls as quickly and quietly as possible.

Jimmy gave him a small, serious nod. “Her best friend. And her mom. They called three weeks ago, just when it was starting to go real bad around here, and said they’d be on their way.” He stared at the silent car. “Now she knows, _really_ knows, why they never arrived.”

Other than that, it was largely an uneventful drive. When the RV finally turned to a narrow dirt road, Rick honked just once, hoping that the signal they’d agreed on wouldn’t attract the attention of unwanted parties. 

The RV slowed down and stopped. Everybody came out and looked at Rick to hear an explanation for stopping. Rick walked in the middle of the main road, looked up and down, peered at the narrow road which disappeared into the thick woods.

“How far?” he asked the locals.

Jimmy and the Greene girls looked at each other; the young man shrugged. “Maybe half a mile.”

“How’s the site? Easy to turn the cars around?”

Maggie shook her head. “It’s not great. Not really planned for several cars. When we...when kids came here, the cars were parked along the road. Getting out always took some fancy maneuvering.” A small smile flitted across Maggie’s face -- a memory of carefree days.

Rick glanced at Daryl. No mindreading necessary: the shake of Daryl’s head said enough.

“We go see if it’s safe. Then, we’ll back the cars up the road. We need to make sure we can get out of there quickly if we have to.”

“Jimmy, Daryl, Andrea, you come with me.” Rick checked his Colt and reached for the rifle he’d stowed behind his seat. His gaze scanned the others. “You keep your eyes open.”

The four of them walked over a short open space and entered the gloom of the woods. Rick tried to tread quietly even though it was an exercise in futility. The hunter by his side was a shadow and a ghost, and if Rick hadn’t seen him, he wouldn’t have known he was there. How he pulled it off, Rick had no idea.

Andrea gripped her gun tightly and her eyes darted from side to side; Jimmy stepped with confidence -- this was his show, and the boy seemed to enjoy his first time at the center of the group.

The cottage came into view. It was decent-sized, it would give shelter for them all. The lake was peaceful, there was no sound of walker growls, and the small yard was devoid of cars. Rick frowned -- could they really be this lucky?

Daryl had stopped to listen. The crossbow had lowered in his hands, but now he raised it to eyelevel.

“I don’t like this,” he rasped.

They advanced towards the silent cottage. Still no movement anywhere. Rick kept glancing at the predator by his side; Daryl looked wary and cautious, and Rick knew better than to break his concentration by questions. Daryl would let them know what was bothering him when he was ready. Andrea crept forward on his other side, her eyes flicking to Daryl just as often as to the woods surrounding them.

“But there’s nobody here!” Jimmy said, his normal voice level booming in the silence. Daryl hissed furiously at the boy, and Rick whispered, “Better safe than sorry. Quiet now!”

They were almost at the front door now. Daryl swerved to the right. “Just gonna take a look at the back. Wait here.” His voice was low and authoritative. Andrea threw a glance at Rick, like a reflex, to have confirmation. Rick grimaced to himself, _yeah, chain of command, as it were_ , and nodded quickly. They’d have to discuss the operative side of the group later; when the shit was about to hit the fan, they’d better follow Daryl’s lead as if it were Rick himself. They’d not always have time to check everything with their ‘official’ leader. But this was a new set-up, what with Shane pretty much gone from the hierarchy of the small group -- they’d need to learn fast ‘cause it didn’t look like this world was about to grant them peaceful time to have group building retreats and fun exercises.

Daryl vanished behind the corner. Jimmy shifted restlessly from one foot to the other. 

“This is silly,” he huffed. “We’re wasting time.”

And before Rick had time to stop the young man, he’d stridden to the door, rattled it open and stepped inside.

There was a bump, and a growl, and a scream. Jimmy stumbled backwards out the door, two sets of walker teeth buried in his arm and thigh. It only took a second for Rick and Andrea to rush to his aid, but it was enough for the other walker to take another bite, this time from Jimmy’s belly.

The sound of the screams and the twin gunshots brought Daryl running back, just in time to see the shocked faces of Rick and Andrea staring at the wailing boy. His arm was a mess of blood and skin and muscle; Andrea’s shot had decimated the walker’s skull, but its jawbone was still stuck on what was left of Jimmy’s bicep. 

Andrea dropped to her knees and tried to soothe the boy. Her blond hair fell over the side of her face and Rick couldn’t see her expression, but he remembered all too well that only a few weeks ago Andrea had cradled another person of similar age. Andrea would remember it, too. Her tone was tense as she shushed and comforted the agonized young man.

The sound of running feet registered in Rick’s brain. He span around, grief-stricken, adamant to not be caught off guard ever again, _too late with the good intentions, too late for Jimmy_. Maggie and Shane were sprinting towards them, and Rick tried to get his mind around the fact that Shane was carrying a gun. 

Maggie stopped in her tracks when she saw Jimmy lying on the small porch, writhing and crying, head cradled in Andrea’s lap. Rick’s gun was half-aimed at Shane, but one look at his ex-friend’s face made it pretty clear he wasn’t the threat here. 

Rick’s mind was fizzling with _you failed, you failed, you failed_ ; he shook his head quickly, no time for the fuckin’ luxury of self-recrimination. He turned to look at Daryl. The hunter was scanning the surroundings.

“Daryl?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you check the back of the house?”

“Yeah.” Daryl swallowed. “Was almost back to ya when I heard Jimmy scream. I‘s gonna come an’ tell ya about them two bikes back there. I‘s gonna say we gotta be prepared there’s somethin’ inside.”

Rick had his regrets, Daryl had his own. _Always the same. If only I had been more vigilant. If only I’d been faster._

They walked to Andrea and Jimmy. Tears of pain and fear and hopelessness were pouring out of the boy’s eyes. Rick sensed Maggie step to his side. 

“Beth should be here,” she said.

“You absolutely sure?”

“Not knowing is the worst. Being here… maybe it’ll give her closure. Also… maybe it’ll help Jimmy…”

***

An hour later the cars had been backed up along the dirt road far enough not to be seen from the main road but ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Nobody felt like talking; Beth, staring at nothing, sat on the porch by the forever-silent Jimmy, and just the scratch of shovels broke the sound of sadness. 

The funeral, such as it was, consisted of a few minutes’ silence and a few words from Hershel. He’d fashioned a simple cross with stones he’d picked up from the waterfront. It was slowly getting dark, and they hadn’t eaten anything since the morning. _God, it feels like this morning was weeks ago,_ Rick thought, a slight headache dulling his mind. The hopeful feeling of him and Daryl, the teasing banter with Carol in the kitchen only a few measly hours ago… and now they’d lost their safe haven and yet another group member, and they’d have to start all over again.

****

They set up two-hour watches, one at the back of the cottage, one on the roof of the RV. The sky was clear and it was still full moon, so when Rick looked around him in search of Daryl, he saw him climb on the RV where Glenn already sat with an unlit flashlight and a rifle. After a minute, Glenn scrambled down and Daryl took his place. 

Rick went in the house to say goodnight to Carl and the others, all spread out on the floor in their makeshift nests of pillows and blankets. He strolled back outside, headed towards the RV and climbed up. Daryl didn’t even look his way, his gaze was aimed at the road and the woods.

“D’you mind?”

A split second hesitation. “‘s ok.”

Rick sat down by Daryl’s side. “You can tell me if you need some alone time.”

Now Daryl turned to look at him. “Ya really wouldn’t mind if I told ya I don’t want ya here?”

Rick winced. “I...guess I would, to be honest. If I had it my way, I’d never be more than a few yards from you,” he said, the words coming as a surprise to him. He got it real bad, for God’s sake…

He blundered on. “But I think you’ll always need more time alone than I, an’ I can respect that. Just as long as it doesn’t mean you don’t… want to spend time with me, too.” He had caught himself just in time. He’d been about to say ‘you don’t like me anymore’ but, oh God, he’d’ve sounded like a smitten schoolgirl…

The tiny amount of tension melted away from Daryl’s shoulders. They kept watch together, in silence, for a good while.

“Should’ve hollered ya,” Daryl’s words cut into the darkness. “Just thought we’d stay quiet for a second longer. But if I’d-”

Rick interrupted him. “I should’ve kept my eye on him. Andrea was closest to him, she should’ve grabbed him. Jimmy should’ve known better and followed our orders. So don’t. It’s not on you any more than it’s on all of us. Just… Don’t. It’s hard enough on everyone as it is. I’ve got a nasty feeling we’ll make more mistakes in the weeks and months to come, and if we start piling up guilt for every one of them, we’ll be buried under it. We won’t be able to function, and then we’ll all be dead.”

Daryl gave a noncommittal grunt, and Rick had a feeling the man was too used to accepting the blame. For an antisocial, grumpy redneck, the guy had a bad tendency to carry the world on his shoulders. Rick snorted to himself. What a great pair they made…

He grew serious again. There was something he needed to get out, like a confession.

“You know what scares me? When Jimmy happened, the first thought I had was...y’know, sad and horrified for the kid. But y’know what came right after? _Anger_ \-- because we lost an able-bodied man, a fighter from our ranks.” Rick rubbed his forehead, he felt Daryl’s eyes on him. “It was such a goddamn _pragmatic_ thought, calculating and subtracting the number of defensive forces.” He raised his head to meet Daryl’s calm gaze. “I never knew I could be like this. An’ it didn’t take very long, either. A few weeks, and it seems I’m fully capable of holding a gun to a boy’s head, terminating a little girl in front of her mother, exiling a life-long friend, and having a gut reaction to losing a group member that is not just empathy but _resentment_ for losing a fighter -- all in the name of the greater good.”

He chewed on his lip. Daryl shifted, inched closer, and the man’s bodyheat, radiating through layers of clothes, soothed Rick.

“Hunh. Dunno whatcha want me to say? That it sucks to be the leader? Consider it said. Ya need to cry over Jimmy an’ the rest, be my guest, my shoulder’s right here. An’ maybe you oughta. Ain’t the best with this stuff but I’ve heard it ain’t good to bottle things up. They’ll just explode in your face at some point. I should know.” Daryl snorted. “But you gotta stop whippin’ yourself for thinkin’ like a leader. We gotta keep these people safe, an’ we can’t do it by gettin’ all emotional over everything. The way I see it, we’re in a war. Gotta be practical.”

“But at what point does that mean we stop being human?”

“Them old world values ya talkin’ about?”

“Yeah.”

“Just gotta keep our eyes open. The moment ya stop feelin’ like ya need to vent about this stuff, that’s when ya really gotta start worryin’.”

Rick couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You’re like the wise old Yoda.”

Daryl snorted. “Well, I’ve seen them movies like a dozen times. Bound to have somethin’ rub off on me."

The rest of the watch was spent in companionable silence. The night grew chilly, and in a bout of self-conscious shyness and pure _need_ Rick put his arm around the hunter’s waist and drew him tight against his side. Daryl turned to look at him and he was so very close and Rick wanted so very very much to kiss him… but T-Dog might come at any minute to take over the watch, and it would’ve made a sorry example of vigilant leadership if Rick was caught lost in a kiss with the current watchman. _Workplace harassment, you might call it_ , Rick quipped to himself, almost embarrassed to entertain such frivolous thoughts amid their latest round of tragedies.

Then T-Dog climbed on the roof, and Daryl rose up smooth like a flame and held out his hand to help Rick. He grumbled quietly; it was fuckin’ unfair that the archer was so fuckin’ _nimble_ in addition to everything else. Daryl wasn’t _that_ much younger, and Rick sure felt all his 40+ years in his stiff joints.

They were almost at the door when Rick grabbed Daryl’s hand and led him to the shore. The lake was pitch-black where the moon didn’t light up a narrow moonglade. The wind was picking up, and Rick shivered despite his shirt and long-sleeved flannel and jacket. Daryl stepped behind him, wrapped his arms around him, and drew him close. Rick felt Daryl’s breath on the side of his face and shivered again. Cold had nothing to do with it this time. Daryl’s arms tightened and his lips brushed against Rick’s neck. 

“‘m gonna warm ya up,” the man drawled, and nipped Rick’s earlobe. Rick let out a tiny gasp and turned his head, his lips reaching for Daryl’s like his life depended on it. After the day’s horror, his mind went on lockdown and his body took control. Daryl’s hands moved downwards and stopped at Rick’s belt. Then he started to unbuckle, unbutton, unzip, and Rick shuddered so hard he had to take a break from kissing.

“Can ya be real quiet?” The low purr in his ear stomped out the rest of Rick’s rational mind. The one who tried to point out that they were unsheltered ( _isn’t that cold yet,_ the little devil on his shoulder helpfully pointed out) and visible ( _it’s dark, you moron!_ ), and was this even, y’know, appropriate after what’s been happening today ( ** _especially_ ** _after what’s been happening! celebration of life, or whatever!_ ).

“Mmhm.”

Daryl moved Rick’s shirt aside. Warm fingers caressed his belly and raked their way under the waistband of his underwear. Rick bit his lip, hard, to keep in the whimpers. Daryl pushed Rick’s pants down, just enough to take Rick’s eager cock in his hand. A thumb circled the swollen head and spread precum; slick fingers stroked his cock, and a low, low moan escaped him.

“Quiet…” Daryl breathed into his ear. “Fuck you’re hot like this…” The hunter’s voice hitched; he pressed his groin into Rick and he felt the hardness there. Rick thrust in Daryl’s hand, and his mind played out all kinds of visuals of Daryl and cocks and tight, tight spaces, and Daryl’s lips were on his neck and _sucked_ , and his balls tightened, and, _oh God…_

Daryl’s strong arms kept him standing. His legs felt like butter, and warmth and relaxation spread all over him.

“Fuckin’ Jesus, Rick…” Daryl’s strangled murmur worked its way through the haze of the orgasm. With trembling fingers Rick fixed his pants and turned to his hunter.

“Your turn.”

Daryl licked his lips. “Ya don’t hafta.”

“I know. But I want to.”

***

When they finally -- relaxed and tired -- ambled back to the cottage and reached the tiny porch, they heard a quiet cough from the direction of the RV. A low, amused voice reached them.

“Just so you know, sounds carry pretty well around here. Appreciate the thought though, at least you _tried_ to keep it down. B minus for effort.”

Daryl had frozen to the spot. “Fuck,” he whispered.

Rick felt an overwhelming urge to laugh out loud. That, he managed to suppress; instead, the flush on his face burned like fire. “Thanks, T-Dog.”

***

In the morning, the reality of their situation hit Rick hard. The adrenaline had worn off, and everyone looked exhausted and listless. Beth’s eyes were red-rimmed; she went out to collect wood like a robot. Rick watched her for a while, and then, with a heavy heart, ordered her back inside. It was not safe to wander around like a zombie in the middle of actual zombies.

Carol fried eggs for breakfast. Rick munched on his and tried to get his exhausted brain working on plans. He felt eyes on him and looked up. Across the small fire, Daryl was staring at him, and when he saw Rick meet his eyes, the hunter raised his eyebrow. _“Talk?”_

Rick swallowed the last of the egg, stood up and walked to the lake to rinse his plate. Daryl popped up next to him, and Rick started.

“You gotta start wearing a jingle bell. One of these days you’re gonna give me a heart attack otherwise,” he said, trying to coax a smile out the tired-eyed archer. Daryl acknowledged Rick’s effort with a twitch of his lip.

“We can’t stay here, man.”

Rick turned to look at the lake and stuffed his cold hands in his coat pockets.

“No, we can’t. Today, maybe, not longer.”

“‘s a dead end. Too easy to sneak on us.”

“I know.”

“Too close to the farm.”

“I know...”

Daryl waited in silence for Rick to go on. 

“...but we’ve got to rest. Regroup. Plan -- not just bolt somewhere. It’s like to you said, we can’t keep stumbling half-cocked, we gotta make strategies. Even if by some miracle the herd was heading right this way, they’d never cover 30 miles in a day, and as for other threats… well, we need the breather, we’ll just risk it. It’s either here or somewhere else, and we’re already here, so…”

“Ok.”

Rick was surprised by the ready acceptance of his ramblings. “Ok?”

“Yeah. Ok. But we gotta keep people occupied. Not give them too much time to think. Our group, I guess we’ll deal. But Hershel’s people.... they’re new to this, and they just lost one of their own.”

Daryl’s innate understanding of the human mind kept surprising Rick. Humbly, he had to admit the other man was much better at it than he was.

He nodded. “Fine. Get people to clean the cottage, inventory weapons and food stuff, scour the house for any useful items -- those two walkers were human when they got here, they might have something we can use, and-”

“What d’you mean, ‘get people’? You’re the leader, they ain’t gonna jump on my command.”

Rick rubbed his eyes. He’d slept alright in his little nest, between Carl and Daryl, lulled into sleep by the soft snores of his group. _Sleep_ didn’t always equal _rest_ , however.

“Look, Daryl… this ain’t gonna work if I’m expected to be everywhere at once. I’m the leader, I bear the responsibility, I accept that. But no efficient organization survives with just the one leader. That’s a dictatorship, and that ain’t my thing. I need to delegate, ‘cause that’s just _practical_. CEO and the Ops manager -- that kind of thing.”

Daryl caught on. He drew a quick breath and crossed his arms. _Defensive action._

“What makes ya think they’d listen to me?”

“They’ll listen to you because I tell them to,” Rick said. “What happened with Shane has messed up the group. An’ everybody kept saying I was the leader, but in practice, they were also looking to Hershel and Shane, even to Lori, an’ we weren’t speaking as one voice, there were too many mixed signals. That can’t go on, we don’t have the luxury for endless bickering anymore.”

Rick looked at the other man. Daryl’s arms were still crossed, protecting him, but his back was straight and his eyes thoughtful as he met Rick’s gaze.

“I won’t _order_ you to do this. But I’d feel much better about our chances of survival if-”

“Ok.”

They shared a moment of wordless conversation, and walked back to the fireplace where the group was still eating and seeking comfort in each other’s company. Rick checked who were missing.

“Carol, would you please go get Beth and Glenn? And Daryl..?” He jerked his head towards the RV.

In a moment, Andrea was climbing down from the RV, Glenn joined them from behind the lodge, and Beth stepped out onto the porch. Daryl remained standing, across from Rick, a hand gripping the crossbow sling, his white knuckles the only thing to give away his tension. For a horrible moment, Rick feared he might be making a mistake. Not because he thought Daryl couldn’t pull this off, but because he suddenly realized he might be asking too much of him. He knew how much the man hated to be the center of attention, and Rick would now be placing him straight into the eye of the storm.

But he’d meant what he’d said. He couldn’t do all this singlehandedly, no one man could. The group certainly wasn’t a tightly-knit special forces unit -- it was still just a collection of strangers, and they couldn’t afford to act like a flock of headless chicken. The chain of command had to be established.

Rick cleared his throat.

“This turned out to be a very different day than we thought 24 hours ago. We’ve suffered a big loss...” he looked steadily at Beth, and the girl’s eyes welled up. She swallowed and blinked furiously a few times to get a hold of herself. 

Rick went on. ”...but we got out, and we’re still together. We have food, weapons, relative safety. We have each other. Let’s try to find some amount of comfort in that.” As he was speaking, he made eye contact with each of them in turn. He needed them to know he was talking not just to a _group_ but to every _one_ of them. 

“You deserve to relax and calm down, y’all did good yesterday. We won’t be staying here for long, but while we rest and plan for the future, we’ll make ourselves comfortable. Let’s try to keep busy and make this camp secure and as cozy as possible. Glenn, Hershel, Carol, Daryl -- I’d like to have a word with you in, say, half an hour in the RV.” He paused to consider how he’d present the next item on the agenda.

“This situation is new to most of you. We are not a unified group, and due to certain...incidents,” his impassive gaze targeted Shane, “it seems to me there is a need to clearly define a chain of command. I want everyone to understand clearly, without a doubt, whose orders to follow. This is not a democracy, this is not a voice vote. I will not make the mistake of letting things fall into a mayhem and general squabble like it almost did on the farm. The fuzzy organization already cost lives, and it will stop now.”

Carol seemed to guess what was coming; she turned to give Daryl a slow, appraising gaze, then looked back at Rick and nodded. For some reason, the knot in Rick’s belly -- which he hadn’t even noticed having coiled there -- started to unravel.

Her calm voice nudged him forward.

“Sounds sensible. Makes everyone’s lives easier to know that what a certain person says, goes, without committees and shouting matches. So, what is this chain of command you’re talking about?”

Rick smiled at the woman.

“In spite of your dismissive attitude towards committees, I want us to have one, and at this moment it consists of you, Hershel, Glenn, Daryl and I. I will bear the responsibility of the well-being of this group, but there will be issues which are better discussed before a decision is made, and I will not run around asking opinions here and there. No, there is the-”

“Board of directors?” That was Glenn. He looked around at the others and their amused expressions. “No? Management group?” Amused groans. “Come on guys, this is probably my only chance to be real high on the pecking order. Director Rhee has a nice ring to it…” Now he was grinning, too.

“If Director Rhee would kindly shut up,” Rick deadpanned, “so I could go on. I don’t care what you call it -- that one, you can have a vote on! There’s another thing I need you to know. Carol, you put it nicely: what a certain person says, goes. And in addition to myself, the one other such person in this group is Daryl. I will not _ever_ want to experience yesterday again. If Daryl says stop, or run, or be quiet, you will _not_ disobey, you will _not_ look to me for confirmation. You will do as he says.”

Heads were turning now, and Daryl was in a situation Rick knew he most hated: center of attention. The man played it cool, his posture was relaxed though the grip on the sling was still unnecessarily tight. Eyes narrowed, he met their gazes, and he did not flinch.

Rick battled against a really, really badly timed arousal.

“You know Daryl. He’s not the kind of a man to boss you around just for the hell of it. I’d like to think I’m not that kind of a man either. But we need structure, and this is the structure we have now.”

“So you gave your boyfriend a promotion? That’s...nice. And _such_ a surprise! I’m sure there’s a word for that kind of career advancement... anyone care to suggest something?” 

Shane’s sneer left the group speechless. Maggie’s eyes flitted from Daryl to Rick and back, probably trying to guess which one would flip first.

Rick didn’t have to look at Daryl. This thing they now had -- which, in the Middle Ages, would’ve gained them a swift one-way ticket to a burning stake -- well, it came really handy sometimes. 

_“Wow…_ **_never_ ** _saw that comin’. Out of the blue, ‘s what I mean. Flabber-fuckin’-gasted!”_

Daryl’s dry thoughts hit a nerve, and Rick chuckled. And again, a long, hearty chuckle. Needless to say, nobody saw _that_ coming, least of all Shane. 

Rick smiled at the others. “Now, if anyone has any legitimate concerns…?”

There seemed to be none. Just Shane, scowling silently. Carol, Maggie, Beth, Glenn, T-Dog… they all nodded back at Rick; Glenn and T-Dog threw a high-five to Daryl’s direction, and Carl whooped happily. Andrea, who sat in front of Daryl, gave him a pat on his shin which startled Daryl nearly out of his skin and made Andrea grin widely. 

Rick almost wanted to thank Shane for his despicable words. They had worked like a charm, made people show their colors better than anything he himself could’ve done.

He didn’t stay around to listen Daryl organize the daily tasks; he didn’t want to give any indication that he’d supervise his newly “promoted” second-in-command. He strolled to the RV and went in search of maps. There weren’t any, and that would have to be rectified as soon as possible. Hershel would know the surrounding area: other towns and villages, with bookstores, gas stations, libraries where they’d find road maps.

Fifteen minutes later, the others were sitting at the RV’s table. Daryl sat by Carol, his cheekbones still highlighted by a small flush. Hershel and Glenn sat on the other side, and Rick leaned on the kitchenette counter.

“Everything ok?” he asked from nobody in particular.

“You did good,” Carol said, eyes crinkled in smile even though her face was serious. She turned to look at Daryl. “Both of you.” Glenn nodded several times -- obviously he had no problem with the current set-up, either.

Rick turned his eyes on Hershel’s stern face. The old man avoided his gaze.

“Hershel, whatever you have on your mind, out with it. You have something to say, I’m listening.” Rick fought against a need to cross his arms. He didn’t want to seem defensive, he had to _look_ as certain of his choices as he actually _was_. 

“I…” Hershel’s voice died down, he looked at his hands, clasped, on the table. He raised his eyes to Daryl. The hunter met the severe gaze. Rick knew how hard it was for him, that kind of a steady eye contact with a man who was trying to stare him down. Unlike usually in such cases, this time Daryl didn’t want to fight with aggression. Unwavering certainty was now his weapon, and that was new. Less than two weeks ago, furtive glances had been Daryl’s tool of trade.

Things change.

Hershel drew a deep breath and started again, turned his faded blue eyes to Rick.

“I have no complaints about how you’ve organized the group. This committee is a good idea, and even though it started with the thing we discussed on the last night at the farm, it’ll be useful for other issues as well. As for Daryl, he’ll do well with his new responsibilities, I have no doubt about that. People seemed to take the arrangements well -- aside from Shane which surprised no-one. His position in the group, I believe, is something you might consider a priority issue, Rick. I don’t want to get used to being afraid of getting murdered in my sleep by a group member.” He paused. No-one said anything -- it was clear the man wasn’t done yet.

“And the other thing… I am sorry to hear that the relationship between you and Lori reached a point of no return. As you may have guessed, I believe in the sanctity of marriage. Til death do us part, and all that, which I’m sure sounds horribly old-fashioned to you young people.” Hershel hesitated for a microsecond, then went on, face set and determined.

“And there are also other...things I believe. Things about how relationships should -- or shouldn’t -- be.” Hershel was a man of conviction and faith, Rick knew that, but the old man seemed to be struggling hard on choosing his words. Rick knew the man liked him. Liked Daryl too, in fact. Respected them both, even.

Hence the struggle.

Hershel’s words came out low and stiff. “I know I can’t change the way I believe. I don’t want to. I can’t condone the two of you.” 

A flash of _sad_ and _angry_ poured from Daryl; his hand on the table top clenched imperceptibly. Rick reacted, _“Don’t. Wait.”_

The farmer sighed.

“But I also know it’s not my place to condone or not condone what you do. No more than I would have any place to allow or disallow who Carol,” he nodded at her, “might choose to date. And as little as I can approve of your relationship, I can find in my heart any cause to disapprove of you as persons. You’re good men. Can you accept that that’s as far as I am able to go?”

Rick looked at Daryl. His jaw was clenched, it moved like he was chewing something. The silence was tense, Glenn and Carol flicking their eyes back and forth between the two men.

Then Daryl looked back at Rick and gave a nod. A tiny jerk of the head. Rick let out the breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding.

“I guess that’s fair. Appreciate your honesty, Hershel.” He leaned against the counter harder, more relaxed now.

“We have things to decide. Have you any thoughts on what we gonna do with the information we have about the walker virus? Not that I’m sure it’s a virus but you get the idea.”

Carol was the first to speak.

“I think we should tell them.”

“Yeah, me too,” said Glenn. “I don’t think… yeah, I get that it’ll bum people out but it’s just too damn important. Not knowing might get someone killed.”

Rick winced. Glenn had carefully avoided sounding reproachful -- maybe it was his own conscience acting up.

“I know. It was a mistake, not telling. I guess...I didn’t believe it. Didn’t want to. Can’t bury my head in the sand anymore, not after Randall.”

He looked at Hershel and Daryl.

“Yeah. Absolutely. We need to tell them.” Daryl’s fist had unclenched. He was leaning against the window, wary still, but not so tense anymore. Rick waited for Hershel’s vote.

The farmer gave a slow nod.

“Ok then. I will tell the others tonight. One other thing… I think we need to check the farm.”

Hershel’s head snapped up, a sudden glint of hope in his eyes. “You think the herd is gone? We could go back?”

Rick felt bad for the man. “The herd may be gone, yes, but honestly? I don’t think we can go back. This has shown how vulnerable the farm is. It’s indefensible, it’s too open. Another herd comes along, or Randall’s people… There’s thirty of them, Daryl says, we wouldn’t have a chance there. And if there’s one group like Randall’s, there’s sure to be others. Not everyone was nice in the old world, no reason to assume that has changed. If anything, the change is probably for the worse. Sorry if I sound cynical but I wasn’t trained to cling to illusions about the human nature.” Rick drew a long breath and went on.

“I only thought about the stuff still in there. There’s probably loads of things we could use, and if the herd is gone, we could strip the place in peace. In any case, we’d get an idea which way the herd is going. If they’re coming this way, we can’t stay a day longer."

***

During what passed as the lunch hour, Rick told the others that he and Daryl were going to check on the situation at the farm. It had occurred to him that he and Daryl couldn’t just up and go like that anymore -- that would leave the group without a clear-cut leader, and after what he had _just_ lectured them this morning… 

He thought about Hershel. However intelligent and thorough the old man was, Rick wasn’t sure about his abilities to make quick decisions and think tactically even quicker. Another person came to mind, one he’d like to see step forward, because for all his nimble mind, the young man was all too quick to self-efface. Reminded him of Daryl, actually.

“Y’all, while we’re gone, Glenn will make the decisions.” He saw the ex-pizza delivery guy open and shut his mouth in a mild shock, but he didn’t say anything, just gave an awkward little nod in acknowledgement. A few minutes later, Rick saw Glenn draw Daryl aside and the two men -- so similar, so incredibly different -- talk earnestly.

 _Could this really be going this well?_ Rick stopped that train of thought right there, brakes screeching -- half-superstitious, afraid of jinxing it.

Hershel had plotted a route which would take them to the north of the farmhouse. The herd had come from there, and walkers didn’t stray from their course unless something lured them away from it. Which Rick fervently hoped hadn’t happened. They took Maggie’s car. The bike would’ve been more agile but it was also a lot noisier. When Rick pointed this out to the hunter, Daryl sniffed, and patted the bike. 

“Pay no attention to the rude philistine.” He scowled at Rick, mock-offended. “Good thing I kinda like ya. People’d been thwacked for less. Now move it, brute, we better get goin’.”

Rick’s mood was much too good as they set out towards the farm. 

  
  



	12. Deflagration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for you <3

The weather was turning; heavy clouds were gathering, and the humidity predicted rain. They had left the car behind a half-collapsed shed by the road, just large and intact enough to shelter the Hyundai from passers-by. The drizzle started fifteen minutes into the woods, and the dampness was working its way through Rick’s jacket; Daryl was braving the October weather only a long-sleeved flannel over his sleeveless shirt, and was already thoroughly drenched by the time they reached the tree line and saw the house some half a mile away.

Everything looked quiet. No stragglers about. Rick extended his hand and Daryl gave him the binoculars. After a while Rick gave them back, and Daryl took a look.

“The smaller barn is gone. Fuck, they really are like a swarm of locusts,” Rick said quietly.

“Can’t see the tool shed from here. Could be it’s still ok if the herd was distracted from its course by the main building.”

Yeah, the main building…

Well, it was still standing, which would be good news to Hershel, maybe. But it wasn’t intact. The herd had penetrated the large windows in the back, and the mindless, unrelenting pressure of hundreds of walkers had damaged the frames and the small portions of wall between the windows, and the ragged holes stared at them like gaping wounds. Rick shuddered to think the condition of the interior. The walkers had probably exited the same way, so the front side of the house was most likely severely damaged as well.

“There’s no movement so that’s good. We gonna take a closer look?”

Rick considered the pros and cons. There’d be the half mile dash across open fields -- a risk in itself. On the other hand, if they went now, they’d know whether it was worth coming back to scavenge properly. And perhaps Daryl could track the movement of the herd and see if it continued on the same course after the buildings.

***

They crossed the field at a brisk trot, trying to look at every direction at the same time, pricking their ears as hard as they could. Daryl entered the house first. Even he couldn’t completely silence the crunch of the broken glass under his shoes, but they hoped it was quiet enough not to alert any walkers who might still be staggering around.

Not that there were any. They searched the house, and yes, the ground floor was in a sorry state, the front windows smashed, and the furniture looked like there’d been a stampede of buffaloes. The second floor of the house was untouched, though, and the tool shed was still standing. As they were checking the peaceful second floor bedrooms, Rick tried to contain the sense of cautious optimism, but it was _hard_ when Daryl was rummaging through leftover clothes, taking off his wet shirts, standing _right there_ with all that bare skin, a drop of rainwater falling from his hair and landing on his shoulder and sliding down, down…

Daryl looked up and saw Rick staring at his chest, motionless. _Probably drooling_ , Rick thought and rolled his eyes at himself. Only figuratively, of course, ‘cause his actual eyes weren’t leaving the other man. Nope, they sure weren’t.

Somehow Rick was closer now. Touched the rainchilled skin, raked his nails over the pebbled nipples. Daryl’s breath shuddered. His voice rasped, “We got time for this?”

Rick licked his lips and let his eyes drift over to Daryl’s face. There was a faint flush on his cheeks and his pupils were unmistakeably dilated. Rick quirked the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t know about you but for me this can be real quick.” 

Daryl’s eyes crinkled in amusement. Rick opted for less words, more action, and kissed him. Daryl drew him flush against his chest, and his hands slipped under Rick’s shirts. Rick hesitated, he remembered Daryl’s vehement ‘ _don’t’_ about touching the bare skin on his back. He settled his hands on Daryl’s hips, dipped his thumbs under the waistband, and the hunter’s blunt nails digged into his back.

Suddenly he drew back. “Take this off.” He tugged at Rick’s shirt.

Rick had no problem obeying that command.

After he’d shucked the damp jacket and shirts on the floor, he gave a pointed look at Daryl’s pants. “Can ya get rid of those or d’you need help with them?” 

Daryl’s breath was shallow and his cheeks were tinged pink, but speechless he wasn’t. “I’m a big boy,” he smirked, and slipped the buckle open.

“Yes. You. Are.” Rick mumbled, and groaned to himself. _We really gotta work on the steamy flirting. That was lame!_

He dragged his eyes over the expanse of skin and waited as Daryl opened his pants and started to push them down. The guy really didn’t care for underwear, apparently, and Rick really, really didn’t mind. It was quite possible he was drooling. Again.

He’d never really looked at another man like this. Surreptitious glances quarter of a century ago didn’t really count. Daryl with the arrow wound a few weeks ago also didn’t count -- Rick had been too busy _not_ looking at the bare skin to actually pay it the attention it clearly deserved. The other night in the tent they hadn’t really had patience or light to look in peace. No, this was much better like this -- even with the drizzle outside, it was still only early afternoon, and the large window let in loads of light, and Rick stared.

Daryl was beautiful. 

Scarred and strong and _perfect_. Well-defined muscles, and just a tiny bit of belly fat left from lazier and more beer-fulled days. Another month like this, and the only thing left would be the tight abs and the trail of body hair Rick’s eyes were following downwards.

Daryl shifted, straightened his shoulders which had, for a second, slumped in an uneasy hunch. Rick sensed the vacillation again. Daryl didn’t trust this yet, not fully. Rick looked up. The hunter wouldn’t hold his gaze, his eyes were restless and darted around the room.

Words wouldn’t do right now. ‘ _Talk talk talk’_ wouldn’t convince the man.

 _Equal footing._ So Rick stripped off his pants, and now he had Daryl’s full attention, saw his eyes roam all over his body. Rick stepped close and put his hands on the man. Caressed his chest, his arms, drew the lines of his clavicles, _willed_ his fingers to reflect his admiration, put all his want in his touch. 

He kissed Daryl’s neck, his jawline, his lips, his nose, the corner of his eye. Daryl’s hands gripped him again and pulled him so, so close, _Jesus_ , he felt Daryl’s cock harden, hot against his own, and he trembled in anticipation. And then they were kissing, and the air grew thick and so fuckin’ full of the fuckin’ pheromones Rick went dizzy and just a bit crazy with how much he wanted this man, this piece of _goddamn art_ , his friend, his lover…

So he gripped the other man a bit tighter and led him to the bed, and then they were lying on the comfortable bed -- Rick didn’t know whose room it was and frankly didn’t want to, either -- and their kisses were hard and savage and hungry. 

“What do you want?” Rick panted in Daryl’s mouth.

“Don’t even know,” the younger man answered, voice husky and desperate with need. “Everythin’, I guess.” He grabbed Rick’s thigh and drew it over his hip and pushed his leg between Rick’s legs, and _fuck_ they were close, dicks rubbing against each other between their bodies. The skin on their stomachs was wet with precum. Rick wormed his hand between them and wrapped his fingers around Daryl’s cock. The hunter moaned and the grip on Rick’s thigh tightened and sent out ripples of pleasurable pain. 

Rick gasped and his eyes fluttered close. On instinct, he changed his grip and took hold of both their cocks. _How does this even work?,_ a blurred thought spiralled in his mind. He gave a few experimental strokes, and didn’t wonder anymore.

Daryl threw his head back on the pillow and let out a low cry. His leg was hot against Rick, and the leader craved friction and rutted the sensitive area behind his sack on the muscled thigh. Daryl’s hand grazed hard on his leg, grabbed his buttock, and squeezed. Rick’s eyes fell open, and Daryl was staring back at him, lower lip between his teeth, pupils blown.

“What do you want?” Daryl asked, words coming out low and strangled. His cock glided against Rick’s in the tight channel of the leader’s grip. He was kneading Rick’s butt, parting the cheeks, _exposing_ Rick. 

Rick was all out of words. Daryl’s long fingers brushed lightly over his asshole. The touch was foreign and new, and it made Rick’s cock impossibly hard, and he had to slow his strokes down, he didn’t want to come just yet. 

He whimpered. There was no way that was a dignified sound from a grown man but who cared? Daryl touched him again, the fingertips tentative and curious. 

“What do you want?” he repeated his question, voice broken, full of pent-up lust.

All out of words. So Rick let go of their leaking cocks, reached for Daryl’s hand, brought it between them, rubbed his fingers on their slick bellies, and placed the hand back on his ass.

Daryl stared at him. 

_“You asked me what I want.”_ The silent words still worked.

Daryl drew a quick breath, and Rick felt how Daryl’s cock twitched against his. He took their cocks in his hand and started stroking again, slow and steady, because he wanted this to last a bit more...he waited for...he wanted… he wanted…

Daryl’s finger slid down Rick’s crack, circled his tight hole, circled and circled, brushed over it, brushed a little harder, explored the feel of it, rubbed the crinkly skin, pressed lightly, then just _pressed_. Rick’s whole body trembled. This was new. Lori and he...it had been good, what they’d had, wild even, to a certain extent, but Lori had never shown any interest in _this_ , and Rick hadn’t known to ask, so… Daryl’s finger sank in him -- and yeah, God, he hadn’t known, he hadn’t _known_ this’d make him curse, and moan, and shudder, and want to push back…

“Rick, fuck, Jesus…’s so fuckin’ hot...you’re....Jesus...you like this? Don’t hurt? ‘s so tight...God fuck fuck…” The slick finger pushed deeper, and Rick crashed his mouth on Daryl’s, he wanted there to be no room at all between them. Their cocks were burning hot and iron hard, and they were practically fucking Rick’s fist, and every time Rick rocked his hip backwards, Daryl drilled deeper into his hole, and it burned and stretched and it was weird and it made him want more, and-

-and then Daryl did _something_ , and it was like all his nerve endings lit up at the same time. He thought he heard Daryl’s amazed “Jesus, Rick!” and felt the first spurts of hot cum between them, and then the mind-blowing pleasure of his orgasm rushed over him. 

***

Rick managed to focus his eyes. Daryl was watching him. He looked relaxed, at peace, lying there with his mussed hair and all-seeing blue eyes.

“See? We did have time for it.”

Daryl smiled, one of his too-rare open, unguarded smiles.

“If someone asks what took us so long, I ain’t gonna be the one to explain it.”

Rick chuckled. 

“Was it ok for you? Not...too weird?” _Now_ he blushed, the memory of how he showed Daryl what he wanted suddenly striking him as too _proactive_ somehow.

“Yeah it was ok. _Hell_ yeah it was ok! Jesus… I thought my heart would stop when you...y’know…” 

And wasn’t this just a bit ridiculous, too grown-ups blushing not about sex but _talking_ about sex… Rick smiled to himself. It was just a teeny-tiny bit sweet. And sweetness was sorely lacking in the world right now.

Daryl was still talking. “...I didn’t...an’ then, dunno what happened...ya clenched, like, God, it was tight, an’ I couldn’t help but think what if… an’ yeah…” 

Seeing Daryl’s happy, shy little smile, Rick wanted to be bold.

“If we had more time, we could see about that ‘what if’,” he smirked, and got an enormous kick out of Daryl’s widening eyes and deepening flush.

“Ya would…?”

“I might.”

They lay on the bed, kissing, and talking, and holding each other, until they knew it was time to go. By some miracle, the herd hadn’t bashed through the generators, so the water was hot and the pipes were still working and they took a quick shower before finding passable dry shirts. Rick was just cramming the damp shirts into his bag when Daryl raised a warning hand. The man who glanced at Rick wasn’t the mellow Daryl of fifteen minutes ago, it was his vigilant second-in-command. 

“Cars,” he said. He strode to the window and peeked outside. “Three cars. Be here in thirty seconds.”

“No time to get out.”

“No. We’d be wide open in the field. Like shootin’ fish in a barrel.” 

It didn’t escape Rick’s notice that their gut reaction to the cars was that there’d be bad people in them. 

_Well, it’s not like we’d shoot them on sight!_ he argued with himself. _There’s good people out there, an’ I’ve already found several. We’ll just be prepared._

He sensed no conflicted emotions in the other man. Daryl was _always_ prepared.

They readied their weapons and settled on both sides of the window. Carefully, Rick unlatched the window and pushed it open a little, enough that they’d hear better what might be said outside. The cars came to a halt in the yard. Ten men stepped out. Rick frowned at the amount of their guns. 

“Looks empty,” one of the guys said. 

“Maybe that herd came through here. Like, literally, I mean… just look at that,” said another, and pointed at the heap of wood that used to be a mid-sized barn. “Probably went through the house as well.”

A lanky guy, maybe in his fifties, raised his voice. “We don’t have much time. That hovel we’re holed in now, that won’t do for tonight, not with this weather. Steve, Grant, check the house. There’s no cars around so I’m guessing if there were still people here when that herd came, they got out. They might try to come back so we better get our boys here quick. Ain’t nobody gonna take this from us.”

_“I guess we don’t need to wonder if these guys are ok or not…”_

Rick glanced at Daryl. _“I guess we don’t.”_

They heard the two men stomp around downstairs. There was no hope of hiding -- they couldn’t get on the roof what with the other men lounging in the yard, walking around the house. Sure, they could hide under the bed or something, but the condition of the room would give them away. The still-warm, messy bed and the humid bathroom would alert even the dimmest people, and there was no reason to assume these guys were stupid.

So they waited by the window for the moment that would decide whether they’d have to fight their way through ten heavily armed men, or not. Rick wasted a few seconds thinking back to their silent dialogue. After the first brief surprised moment of realization in the field a few days ago, Daryl had taken this thing in his stride. He didn’t hesitate to use it, didn’t question it -- apparently, among dead people walking, a little mind-reading wasn’t worth gettin’ all upset about. Not that Rick disagreed.

He glanced at Daryl again. His mouth was a hard, thin line, and the crossbow was steady as a rock, aimed at the door. Other than that, there was nothing to indicate that he’d be worried. 

_“Stop thinkin’ so loud. It ain’t over til it’s over.”_

They heard steps on the stairs. Then somebody shouting downstairs, “‘s empty, not a single drop of blood anywhere. They got out for sure.” The steps stomped back down.

Rick and Daryl glanced at each other. At least something went their way. They turned back to the window and peeked out again. The two men emerged from the house.

“Nothing. No biters, no nothing.”

The lanky man didn’t hesitate. “Fine. Brian, Jack -- you stay here with Steve and Grant. Start cleaning up the place, boarding up the windows, y’know the drill. Set up a lookout, just in case somebody tries something. Take them out, we don’t need competition. Unless there’s women, them we do need. But you knew that, right?”

The raucous laughter that echoed in the yard made Rick want to throw up. Daryl had lost his zen, and Rick wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam coming out of his ears. Rick’s mind suddenly flooded with memories. Visions of Beth with her bright smile, Maggie fuming over Shane, Carol crying in the RV -- and other visions, of a cowering boy blabbering about a man and his daughters, of vicious blows, of bloody knuckles and someone brushing them gently-

-and he realized these memories belonged to Daryl, and that they were just _leaking out_ of him, and that maybe there were all kinds of reasons why this sort of thing triggered the man so violently, and that this was really not the time or place to talk about it.

“Daryl?” He risked a whisper, hoping it would jolt the younger man out of the memories.

“Hmm?” Daryl turned to Rick. Then his eyes cleared, and the deluge of visions vanished from Rick’s head.

“‘m thinkin’ this is Randall’s group.”

“Could be. We knew they were somewhere in the area. Anyway, not a nice bunch of people.”

The leader and five of his men returned to their cars and drove away in two of them.

“We gotta stay here? In the middle of nowhere?” whined one of the guys.

“An’ what would _not_ be in the middle of nowhere these days?” snorted another.

“I liked that town. Pubs an’ all, y’know.”

“You’re _such_ a pampered city boy,” one man laughed.

The whiny guy rolled his eyes. “‘s just...them woods everywhere...creep me out, ‘s all. Stupid herd, we had it nice an’ good there...”

One of the first guys -- Steve? Grant? -- told them to shut the fuck up, and start doing what they were supposed to be doing. 

“Jack, quit whining, you take the first watch. You two, let’s get in an’ get this done.”

The sound of furniture being dragged around and broken glass brushed aside provided cover for some whispered conversation. 

“We can’t afford to wait for them to come to us. Who knows how long they’re gonna mess about downstairs.” Rick thought quickly. “How quietly can you get down from the roof?”

“Quiet enough.” Daryl looked cautiously out the window. “I think the guy’s just sittin’ on the porch. I see his legs. Gimme five minutes.” And the man slipped out of the room without a sound. Rick tiptoed after him and saw Daryl open a door to another bedroom at the other side of the corridor.

Rick took a few soft steps to the direction of the stairs and settled down to wait. The three men were making such a racket, it would drown out any noise Daryl might make. _Yeah, we can work with that_ , he thought with a grim smile on his lips.

He checked his watch. Almost five minutes. He crept closer to the corner until there were bare inches between him and the stairway. He heard the men chatting and working in the living room; they’d have a clear view to the lower portion of the stairs, but Rick could slink down a few steps so he’d be ready for whatever Daryl was cooking up. He tried to be as light on his feet as possible, kept his breathing calm and steady, and started to descend.

He was halfway down the upper set of stairs, when he heard a loud *thump* from outside, right in front of the porch, near the kitchen windows.

“What was that?” “Didya hear that?” two of the men said at the same time.

“‘s like something fell from the roof,” said the third guy, and Rick damped down a surge of worry. 

“Jack hasn’t fired or anything… ‘s probably nothing.”

“Still, better take a look. Don’t want any nasty surprises when Lenny gets back. He don’t like surprises.”

Rick heard three sets of steps nearing the hall. If the men kept their eyes on the front door, they wouldn’t notice him. He froze and waited. _It had better not be Daryl, lying on the ground, leg broken or something…_

The first guy opened the door and peeked out quickly and cautiously.

“Jack!” he called out. 

Nobody answered.

“What did that idiot do _now_?” the first guy huffed. He wasn’t a complete fool, though, he had a gun in his hand and he stepped out carefully, checking to his right, then leaning forward and taking a quick peek to the left, past the open door.

A bolt burrowed in his right eye; the man was dead before he hit the porch floor.

The two froze for a heartbeat, then sprang into action, turned from the door and probably aimed at exiting through the open living-room windows in the back.

They didn’t get very far. The Python fired twice, and then it was just Rick and Daryl again.

The archer strode in, crossbow cocked and loaded just in case. He squinted at the two bodies in the hall. They wouldn’t be walking again in a hurry.

“Now what?” he asked.

Rick put the Colt back in the holster. He had an idea. However...they didn’t have time to waste, but maybe they had a few minutes? ‘cause this was important, too.

“What would you do?” he shot back.

Daryl blinked. A small furrow emerged in his brow. He considered Rick’s question. The leader kept his mind blank -- the whole mind-reading business only worked when they wanted it to (probably) or when emotions ran really high (apparently) but he didn’t want to risk it.

“Ya testin’ me?”

Rick saw no reason to lie. Doing this was his responsibility. 

“Yes.”

The frown deepened, the jaw clenched, the grip on the crossbow tightened. Daryl lowered his gaze back to the bodies, and Rick sensed a struggle there, and he hated doing this, letting Daryl think he was under a microscope. 

They’d only known each other for a few weeks. He _had to_ make sure it was more than just freaky mind-reading, or strangely compatible personalities. He _had to_ make sure they knew how the other one thought, the way his mind worked, the routes that mind took. They wouldn’t always be side by side, and Rick wouldn’t always be there to make the decisions, he could be miles away, and they had to be familiar enough to _know_ ‘this is what Daryl would do’, ‘this is what Rick would do’.

_Friendships on fast forward. Leadership trainings while standing at the brink of human extinction._

_No pressure._

So Rick would just have to suck it up, the fact that this surprise test offended his boyfriend; and his boyfriend would just have to deal with it. ‘cause they had to know what they were doing -- like they were one mind. Not just lovers, but leaders.

“I get it.” 

Rick studied the hunter. He’d lowered the crossbow, and the lips weren’t such a tight line anymore, there was the faintest hint of a smile there.

“I get why you’re doin’ this. ‘s ok, stop lookin’ so...like you’re busy whippin’ yourself.” He crouched beside one of the bodies and deftly opened the man’s belt and freed the knife holster. He slid out the knife and sized it up with his eyes. After an approving grunt and a mumbled “Could work for Carol, or maybe Beth”, he stood up and focused on Rick.

“So, I’m thinkin’ we pack these fuckers in the car, clean up real quick, an’ get the hell outta here before them thugs get back. Leave them to wonder what the fuck happened here.” Daryl cocked his head. “Was that what ya had in mind?"

Feeling a bit better about the situation, Rick nodded.

Between the two of them, it wasn’t that hard to move the bodies, but the clean-up in the hall took precious minutes. The blood hadn’t had time to really sink in to the hardwood, however, and there was a rug in front of the stairs, and Rick covered the wet stains with it. He hoped the other guys hadn’t been in the house, or at least wouldn’t remember the exact location of a generic hall rug.

Meanwhile, Daryl had picked up their stuff from upstairs and added a few odds and ends in their bags. He collected weapons from the dead men and stuffed them in the car along with the bags.

“Gotta get goin’.”

Rick took a final look at the house, and when they drove off, he wondered where they’d find another such place -- something to provide even an illusion of permanence.

***

The rain had stopped a while ago but the sun was still a no-show. They followed the same winding route as the previous morning. There was no way of knowing where the other group had holed in, so the only thing they got going for them was speed. It had been less than thirty minutes between Lenny’s guys leaving and Daryl starting the car.

Daryl stopped at the site of the car crash. 

“Figured we’d leave the bodies here. Even if they drive through here, there’s no reason for them to stop to check a bunch of dead walkers.”

They pushed the men under the cars. Rick was just getting back in the car as a thought occurred to him. He went through all three cars and popped open the fuel tank caps. Thinking that all gas had already been siphoned off would give even less reason for any others to stop investigate the site. When he got back in the car, Daryl gave him an approving nod, started the car, and they drove on.

There was something off in the silence that hung between them. Finally Rick cleared his throat.

“We get back in the camp, we pack up and leave. We’ll get Maggie’s car on the way out. I’m thinking we’ll be heading north -- unless anyone’s got a better idea.”

Daryl nodded, eyes on the road. A muscle moved on his jaw. Rick waited.

“Rick, ya told me to always speak my mind to ya. Remember?”

“Yeah…?”

“Didya mean it? What if I say somethin’ ya really don’t like hearin’?”

Rick was silent for a beat. “I guess it depends on what you say. We might disagree, and then we’d talk about it. I might be sad, or angry, or hurt. But I don’t need to like everything you say to me. Friends don’t always agree. What we have isn’t about never thinking differently about things.”

Daryl didn’t say anything to that for a while. His lips were sucked in, he was thinking, and not a peep leaked out of his brain. 

“So...you’ve got something you want to say to me?” To be honest, Rick was worried. He had a feeling this had something to do with -- to put it clumsily -- the _professional aspect_ of their relationship. This wouldn’t be the first time Daryl had disagreed with him on group matters so what was different this time? 

Daryl’s shoulders tensed, Rick saw the movement under the shirts. The man released his lips with a pop and his voice was flat. 

“Yeah… Rick, don’t ever do that again. Don’t test me. Don’t...play with me. I don’t respond well when someone tries to cram me into a corner. Tries to make me perform like a circus dog.”

This was not a request. The words held a similar finality than the lone ‘don’t’ a few days ago. Like running into a brick wall. Non-negotiable.

Rick’s anger flared for a second. This fell under the professional aspect -- who was Daryl to issue fuckin’ _ultimatums_ to him? 

His brain helpfully provided him with a memory. His own words, on several occasions no less -- sincere and noble and idealistic and well-meaning and not a little infatuated. ‘ _I like that you speak your mind… I want to hear what’s on your mind… You’ve got a right to say what you want…’_

Everyone’s got a hard limit somewhere. So what was a good leader gonna do when he crashed into someone’s limit? What was an understanding friend gonna do? A lover who was pretty goddamn fond of his partner?

Would he bulldoze over it ‘cause heaven forbid an underling should dare put up a stop sign for his boss?

_Is that who I am? Has it been lurking underneath, just waiting to get out? Is this who I’m becoming? If so, I might just as well let Shane shoot me -- his plans for Daryl weren’t so different, after all._

Daryl spoke again. “Like I said, I get it. Or think I do. We gotta get to know each other better, and fast. We gotta rehearse, kinda. An’ maybe shit like that works with some people. But it ain’t gonna work with me. ‘s just not _me_ , man.” Daryl stole a glance at Rick. “We could try somethin’ else. I ain’t opposed to the principle of it, just the method.”

Rick was still trying to crawl out of the bog of introspection. Daryl’s conciliatory words were like a breath of cool, fresh air on his skin. He closed his eyes for a second, then looked at the other man. Daryl took his eyes off the road for a few seconds and met Rick’s gaze.

“I...don’t know what to say, Daryl. I wanna say I’m sorry, and I _am_ , I didn’t mean for you to feel cornered, I just...wanted to use the opportunity and there wasn’t much time… and it was a _good_ test, it worked, so in a way I’m _not_ sorry.” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He rubbed his stubble. The way this was going, next he’d be biting his nails.

“‘s ok. Just jolted me.”

Rick sighed. “Y’know, a few years back, my boss assigned me on a psych course. He was a good boss, always tried to encourage us to learn and improve ourselves. Be better cops and teamleaders and all that. I remember it was a course on different learning styles. Personality differences, y’know. What works best with _this_ kind of personality, or _that_ kind. All kinds of stuff that could be used at work. An’ I was gonna go but then there was this huge case and all vacations were cancelled and so was my attendance, and it just never came up again later. Right now I really wish I could’ve gone.”

Daryl snorted. “I don’t expect silk gloves from ya. I ain’t gonna break that easy. So don’t beat yourself about it, I wasn’t lookin’ for an apology. Just thought it was somethin’ ya should know. I dunno if it’s my shitty personality or what. An’ I get all that crap about gettin’ out of your comfort zone, blah blah blah… but that kinda thing, it’s so far off the zone, it ain’t even on the same planet.” His voice was back to the usual rumble. “‘m sorry. I guess that was outta line, layin’ down the law to ya like that.”

Rick sighed again. “You don’t have to apologize. I admit I...didn’t like what you said. It brought out stuff I was...uncomfortable with. But, y’know, live an’ learn…” He hesitated for a second. _Hell, you only live once_. So he put his hand on Daryl’s shoulder. The other man didn’t bite it off which was a good sign.

“We’re good?”

The hunter nodded. “We’re good.”

***

When they got to the cottage, everyone -- except for the ones unlucky enough to be on guard duty in the damp, chilly weather -- was gathered in the cottage. Glenn came out to meet them. 

“Everythin’ ok? Everyone doin’ what ya told them to?”

Glenn gave a weak smile. “I think it’s more like everyone’s doing what _you_ told them to. It’s been smooth.” He anticipated Rick’s question. “Even with Shane.”

“Good. Get the guards in here, too. Right now.”

***

The group listened to Rick’s tale without a word. Maggie took his dad’s hand when they learned their home had been taken over by dangerous and utterly unpleasant people. Carl’s eyes shone when Rick told how they got out -- the boy understood the danger but he was still just a young boy, listening to the heroic deeds of his father and Daryl who was fast gaining the status of a bona fide superhero in Carl’s mind.

“So the herd headed to the town?” Shane asked. Daryl’s eyes narrowed as the man spoke, but the answer he gave came out in an even voice. 

“Yes, that’s what we think, based on how they talked.”

Patricia’s fingers laced together and squeezed. She tried very hard to look brave but the words trembled. “It’s only ten miles from here…”

“Should we leave right now?” Andrea asked, eyes darting from person to person, an uneasy frown on her face.

Rick stopped the chatter right there.

“We knew from the start this place wasn’t gonna be permanent. I always planned this to be only for a day or two. Leaving right away won’t make much difference. We’re too vulnerable here. So, when this meeting is over, go get the cars ready. We did it in fifteen minutes back at the farm, so half an hour should be plenty.” 

T-Dog pushed himself up from his chair. He sat back down when he saw Daryl shake his head. 

“Ain’t over yet,” the hunter drawled.

Rick drew a deep breath. 

“Okay, that was the bad news. Now for the worse news, just to get them all out. Some of you remember CDC. Well…”

And Rick told them, word for word, what Jenner had whispered to him.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t go down too well. This time, Rick let people vent out their feelings for a few minutes before he raised his palms towards the group. One by one, they quietened down. Andrea and Lori glared at him, and Shane seemed to relish the wave of dissatisfaction that rippled in Rick’s direction. 

Hershel stood up, as did Carol and Glenn. When they took their place by Rick and Daryl’s side, Rick found he didn’t really care about the glares, and Shane could just go and fuck himself.

There was a flush on Carol’s face and her arms were crossed and the grip she had on her upper arm had to be brutal, but her voice was clear. “No use glowering at Rick about it. I’d like to see one of you hold the responsibilities he’s holding, and never making a single decision that couldn’t be second-guessed. Now we know, and we just have to deal with it. So stop being brats about it and start packing.”

Rick tried really hard not to smile. This from a woman who, just a few weeks ago, couldn’t have said boo to a goose. Then his gaze drifted over to Shane, and it became not at all difficult to suppress a smile. Some people apparently thrived under exceptional circumstances. Others, not so much.

The incident in the Greene hall still bothered him. Made him wonder which group he’d find himself in when all was said and done.

However, it was hard to sink into a pit of gloom and inadequacy and self-doubt with Daryl standing firm by his side, so close he felt his bodyheat. Lori or Shane could glower all they liked, Rick had a good thing going here, not just with Daryl but with the others as well. He got a team under construction, and he could just hear the cogs whirring and the bricks falling in their correct places.

***

Thirty minutes later they were on the road again. In Glenn’s bleak view, the cars only had 20 miles left in them, so they’d better find gas real soon. They’d decided to head north, get Maggie’s car, continue north-west to steer well clear of Atlanta, and try to locate a place they could settle for the winter. They needed miles between them and the hostile group and the herd.

Their small convoy had traveled 15 miles when they hit the outskirts of a small village Hershel had suggested might be worth checking out. They circled the village from the east to avoid the center. Daryl scouted ahead, and when the RV pulled over near a sprawling one-story house, Rick had high hopes they’d found something, at least for tonight. 

“Wait here,” he said to T-Dog and Shane, and stepped out to meet Daryl and Glenn. They observed the house, the unkempt yard, the red pick-up that looked like it hadn’t moved in months, the broken windows here and there. They walked around the house and peered inside. They couldn’t see any movement, but it was a big house. Daryl tried the back door. It was locked. He grunted, and backtracked to one of the broken windows, climbed in without making a sound, and soon the door opened. The men listened carefully -- still nothing. 

Rick scanned the hall. There was a coat rack there -- freestanding, black, wrought iron. Rick looked at it for a second, nodded to himself, and tipped it over. It hit the stone floor with a deafening bang. Glenn looked like he could use some time to recover from a heart attack; Daryl just lifted an amused eyebrow. Sure enough, as soon as the loud crash had stopped echoing in their ears, they heard the familiar growls, and two walkers lurched towards them.

“Easier to let them come to us."

Fifteen minutes later the cars were backed behind the house, the walker bodies thrown out, and the group busily settling down for the evening. Rick observed his people cleaning up the shards of glass, checking out the bedrooms, starting to prepare something to eat. Not a well-oiled machine, more of a creaking and spluttering engine -- but it was getting there.

The house was a big one, with four bedrooms, a den, and a separate TV room. Maggie smirked at Rick, jerked her head towards a corridor leading to the left wing, and stage-whispered with a wink, “The master bedroom’s that way.” 

Rick felt his face grow warm and he tried to keep his cool ( _grown-up, remember???_ ), but people had heard the words, and they were turning their heads his way. 

And maybe it was just all the tension unraveling and sweet relief taking its place -- they were alive, and safe for tonight, and there was still harmless teasing and silly innuendos in the world. 

It began with a subdued snigger (Beth?) and a chuckle badly disguised as a cough (T-Dog?), but when Carl gave himself a theatrical facepalm and groaned “Dad…!!”, the situation got properly out of control. Maggie had to sit down, she was laughing so hard. Rick’s face burned but he didn’t fight the chuckles. Hershel sat on the sofa and watched the giggling group -- maybe he didn’t find the open reference to Rick and Daryl’s relationship acceptable as such, but he obviously liked what it had done for the group. They needed this. Rick noticed that Lori’s mouth curved into a smile -- not even she could resist the contagious mirth. Unlike Shane, who looked bored and disgusted.

Daryl stood stock-still, chewing his lower lip. “You’re all goddamn idiots,” he muttered, and stomped out of the room with his bag. Rick wasn’t the only one to notice he turned to the left, however. Beth had a hand over her mouth and she was trying very hard to contain another burst of giggles. The poor girl had tears coming out.

Rick hadn’t thought he’d like being the butt of a joke. But this had been totally worth it.

***

They set up guard shifts; the front porch and the RV in the back. They ate in small groups, chatting quietly. Rick and Hershel pored over a map they’d found in the house. They’d stay here for a while if possible, but this was just as indefensible as the farm had been. They’d head north-west as planned, and they’d try to stay on the smaller roads.

Afterwards, Rick wandered around the house, too restless to sit down and relax. In the kitchen, he saw a wall calendar and stopped to stare at it. It still showed September which he _knew_ couldn’t be right. Someone entered the kitchen.

“Rick,” Hershel acknowledged politely.

Rick kept staring at the calendar. It had pictures on it -- children playing in a pile of fallen leaves. There was a note on the 16th, written in green ink, circled with a slightly misshapen heart: _Ella, 6 yrs_. A daughter, or maybe a grand-daughter?

“You have any idea what day it is?” he asked.

Hershel stepped closer, turned the calendar to October, and thought for a minute.

“It’s still October, I think. Hard to keep track somehow. The last time I remember thinking of a date was the Tuesday you and Shane tried to take Randall away. So much has happened since, it feels it’s got to be at least a week, maybe more, but…” Hershel shook his head, lost in thought.

“I know how you feel.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Rick tried to think back, organize into neat rows and columns everything that had happened since that Tuesday.

“I think it’s been four days,” he finally said. “Or five. Maybe. Which would mean today is Saturday. Or Sunday.”

“I think Saturday. Because this can’t have been a day of rest.”

Rick raised an eyebrow and glanced at the other man. What, Hershel made a joke?

The old man gave him a wan grin and turned his eyes back on the calendar, and finally put his finger on the second to last Tuesday of the month.

“I think it was this one.”

“You sure?”

“Almost.” Hershel turned to look at Rick. “Why is this important?”

Rick turned the pages to December. There was the predictable Christmas tree and gifts wrapped in bright-colored paper.

“Carl’s birthday is in December. He’ll turn thirteen on the seventh. What are the odds he’s celebrating his first teenage birthday with killing dead people or running away from yet another bunch of nasty living ones?”

He had to let the pages fall down, his hand had started shaking so hard. Hershel put a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll beat those odds. I’ll try to keep track of the days. Carl _will_ have his birthday. Have faith, Rick, you’re doing a good job.”

“Dunno if I have any faith left.”

Hershel squeezed his shoulder. “Then I’ll try to have enough for the both of us.”

  
  



	13. Thermal Energy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Wednesday, another chapter... Enjoy!

They left the house on the third day. 

Two whole days of peace and quiet -- God, how they’d needed those. But they couldn’t stay there, and the longer they lingered, the more difficult it would be to do what had to be done.

Rick slept like a log that first night. People had stayed up late but then the adrenaline rush had started to take its toll and all except the guards had gone to their rooms. Daryl was already in theirs when Rick stepped in and closed the door behind him. The hunter had shucked the long-sleeved shirt and stood there, on the other side of the bed, in his shirt with the sleeves ripped off, digging for something from his backpack. 

Rick leaned on the door and studied the man, several candles shining their soft light on him. The scruffy beard, tousled hair, narrow eyes, nose that had probably been broken at some point, cheekbones high enough to make most people green with envy, well-defined muscles on his arms, strong, agile fingers that made Rick warm all over just thinking about them -- at what point, exactly, had this man started to represent all that was beautiful and desirable for Rick? When had it surpassed the delicate, the curvy, the feminine in his mind?

“You’re starin’,” the man grumbled.

The sheer force of _like_ almost choked Rick. He had to tone this down or he’d just make a fool of himself.

“I’m just busy objectifying you. You ain’t hard on the eyes,” he quipped.

“Pssh.” Daryl waved a dismissive hand, and peered at Rick under his eyelashes. “You ain’t too bad yourself.” He shifted, a bit embarrassed. “Are we done with the mutual admiration society now? Can we get to bed already?”

“Eager, are we?” teased Rick.

The familiar crimson touched Daryl’s ears again. “Didn’t mean it like that… ‘m just tired.”

Rick walked to the bed and started to undress himself.

“You can mean it like that if you want. There’s nothing wrong with it. Rather flattering, actually,” he said and winked. “But yeah, I’m tired too. Let’s get some sleep.”

It was new, to curl under the blankets with another man, not in a rush of passion but in a wave of drowsy tenderness, searching for touch and comfort and warmth. They were about the same height but Rick was lean, and still too thin after his stint in the coma. Daryl was sturdier, and again it hit Rick that he was totally unaccustomed to being the one who fit more easily into the arms of his significant other. He wasn’t the only one with some adjusting to do, however.

Daryl squirmed trying to find the comfiest way to hold Rick as close as possible. When they’d finally settled, Rick heard him sigh.

“Never slept with anyone, y’know.”

“Umm...what?”

“No, I meant… I told ya I don’t have… never had, like, a relationship. No-one ever stayed the night, y’know...Haven’t done much in any case -- not that easy with the company I kept, lemme tell ya… but this, sleepin’ in the same bed like this… ‘s my first time.”

Rick wiggled a bit and propped himself on his elbow. He couldn’t really see the other man, it was too dark without the candles, he only saw the vague outline of his face. But he’d already memorized him so, so well. He brushed the prickly stubble on Daryl’s jaw, and pressed his lips on Daryl’s. It was a gentle kiss, full of emotions, tenderness, affection. 

He was hopelessly in love with this gruff redneck, and it gave him all the hope in the world.

***

On the first day, Glenn and Maggie went through the nearby houses and even ventured to the center. They came back with a shitload of carrier bags, and an astonished Hershel watched dozens and dozens of boxes of medicine pour out of them, as well as packs of bandages, bottles of disinfectant, and a ton of other stuff. 

“What…?” 

Glenn laughed, his face relaxed and happy. “We couldn’t believe it either. There was a small drugstore in some back street, and it was a goddamn miracle, y’know, it had barely been touched at all! We should go again tomorrow, there’s still a lot of stuff.”

Carol had picked up a box of tampons and almost cried with joy. Hershel was already hard at work organizing the medicines, muttering to himself about antibiotics and painkillers and NSAIDs.

A few hours later, Glenn found Rick sitting on the roof of the pick-up, doing his two-hour guard shift.

“Hey, man,” he said, and squinted up to Rick, the pale sun in his eyes.

Rick looked down and cocked his eyebrow. “Yeah?”

The young man held out his hand. There was a white plastic bag in it. Rick reached down and took it, a puzzled frown on his face. He was even more baffled to see Glenn’s face turn bright red.

“From the drugstore. Maggie thought you might need those.” And with those words, the man was off like a bunny.

Rick peered into the bag.

_Oh. Jesus…_

Rick found it just a bit difficult to concentrate during the rest of his shift.

***

“We received a present from Maggie and Glenn today.” Rick was sitting at the foot of the bed, peeling off his jeans and socks.

“Oh yeah?” Rick heard Daryl’s mumbled reaction from the small bathroom. He was brushing his teeth.

“So?” Daryl asked when he walked to the bedroom, drying his face on a small towel.

“See for yourself,” Rick nodded towards the bag on the bed. “They think we might have some use for those.”

Daryl emptied the bag on the bed and stared at the contents.

“Oh. Jesus…”

“My thoughts exactly. Don’t know if we should thank the kids or give them a swift kick in the ass.”

Daryl’s eyes were glued on the small packets and bottles. He chewed on his lip and stole a glance at Rick.

“You figure we’d need these?” 

“We might. You?” 

Daryl didn’t answer. He picked up a small bottle of lube and turned it in his hand, around and around. Rick saw his hand shake a little, and the pool of hot lava in his belly was joined by a coil of tenderness as he realized that this man who might just have a little more experience in these things than Rick did and who was afraid of _nothing_ … this man was _nervous_. And then Daryl looked at him, and Rick revised his thoughts. Daryl was not just nervous. 

He was _hungry_.

They undressed in silence, their eyes on each other. Daryl put the bottles and packets back into the plastic bag -- all except the one bottle which he placed on the nightstand. Rick lay on the bed on his side, propped up on his elbow, watching the man. Now _he_ was getting nervous, and Daryl must’ve picked up on his mood.

“We can just sleep, y’know. We don’t gotta…”

Rick cut in. “Don’t want to just sleep.”

Daryl settled down on the bed and pressed a kiss on Rick’s shoulder, and leaned on his elbow and held Rick’s gaze. He seemed to be on a brink of some confession, gathering his courage before taking the plunge. Rick waited.

“Ya should know… I ain’t… don’t really know how…” He paused and twisted his mouth, annoyed with himself. “Frickin’ words. Gimme walkers any day.” He drew a deep breath. “Okay, so, here’s the deal. That shit we did back at the house. Yesterday. Well, that’s as far as my experience goes. Both ways, if ya get what I mean.” His face was bright crimson now, but his eyes were steady.

 _That...was a surprise._ Not necessarily an unpleasant one, if Rick was quite honest with himself.

“Well, between the two of us, we’ve got a reasonable amount of intellect. I bet we can figure out what goes where and how, if we really put our minds to it.” Rick’s words came out light and good-humored, and the tense line of Daryl’s shoulder relaxed.

They started off slow. This was only the second time they were like this together, completely naked, with enough light to really _see_ each other, watch how their hands skimmed the skin, fingers tweaked the nipples, nails raked across the belly, abs clenched, cocks twitched and fattened. Rick’s eyes fluttered shut as Daryl gripped his hip and lapped hard on his nipple, but he forced his eyes open, he wanted to see, wanted not to miss a second of this.

Daryl looked up, and the sight of his blown pupils and his mouth hovering over Rick’s abused nipple _snapped_ something in him.

He pulled Daryl up and attacked his neck, licked and bit and sucked, and his cock was rock hard from the whimpers that escaped Daryl’s throat. Rick scooted back, mouthed his way downwards, stopped for a good long while to nibble on Daryl’s nipples. The man arched into him, moaned Rick’s name probably just a bit too loud. Rick’s insides flared, a savage lust rolled over him, he wanted to fuckin’ _own_ this incredible man…

His blunt nails scraped white lines on Daryl’s chest and stomach as he moved further down. Daryl’s skin tasted _so good_ , and he wanted more of it, like a vampire would crave blood.

Daryl’s fingers sank into Rick’s hair. “What…?” It was just a pant, barely audible. But then Rick kissed the tip of his cock, twirled his tongue along the soft skin, and lapped up the precum leaking from the slit, and Daryl’s fingers clenched and the sounds he made… Christ…

Rick’s world narrowed down to the feel of the hard, silky shaft in his mouth, the skin and bodyhair under his palms, the sparks of pain in his scalp, the scent of musk and sweat and _Daryl_ , the sobs, the moans, the whimpers. There was probably still a world outside all this -- family, friends, foes, all the problems and obstacles still intact. They were now buried under an avalanche of pleasure, and Rick couldn’t have spared a thought to them even if he’d wanted to.

He couldn’t fit all of Daryl’s cock in his mouth -- stupid gag reflex! -- but he had wrapped his hand around the root and had found a rhythm that seemed to please Daryl, if the wrecked gasps were anything to go by. Rick’s fingers started to wander a little, and everywhere they went, they left a trail of trembling muscles and low, throaty cries. Rick’s hand cradled Daryl’s balls, rolled them gently; it gripped his hip and left marks on his skin; it raked over Daryl’s inner thigh and dipped under it and grasped one firm buttock. 

Daryl’s other hand groped at Rick’s head, his neck, his shoulder. The touch was frantic now, and the grip on his hair didn’t just hold him, it _pushed_ and _pulled_ , following Rick’s rhythm, and the leader knew the hunter was close.

“Rick, shit...ya don’t want...ya gotta stop…” Daryl’s voice was tight and desperate. Rick absolutely did not want to let go for even a second, and it was times like this, among others, that the ‘other way’ was real useful.

Rick scoffed in his mind and sent out a thought along with it. _“Sure I do. You’re delicious. Why wouldn’t I want more of you? Just go with it, Daryl, I’ve got you...”_

He sensed Daryl’s shock at his answer. He sensed the white light and the explosion and the ripples of pleasure. And then Daryl’s cock pulsed and pulsed in his mouth. He swallowed it all and kissed Daryl’s cock clean, didn’t want to waste a single drop of him.

Rick rested his head on Daryl’s hip, waited for his breath to calm down. His heart beat like crazy. As a form of exercise this sure trumped jogging in _so_ many ways.

The grip on his hair relaxed. “Come here.” 

The tug on his hair was just as soft as Daryl’s voice. Rick crawled up. He straddled Daryl and propped himself on his hands and knees, and drank in the sight of his hunter. ‘ _You’re beautiful, and you’re mine’… was that from a song? Apt, however, don’t matter where it’s from._

“You’re somethin’ else, Grimes,” the man drawled, and quirked a corner of his mouth in a lazy, content, fucked-out little smile. His eyes drifted down Rick’s body. “Looks like you need some help with that.”

Rick’s cock agreed.

“If you feel up to it. Or did I tire you out, Dixon?” Rick teased. He sat back on Daryl’s thighs and took his hard shaft in his hand and started stroking. “I can just take care of this, don’t you mind me…”

“Nuh-uh. That’s crazy talk.” Daryl pushed himself up, gripped Rick by his waist and flipped him on his back. “I wanna try out that lube.”

“What..?” Rick couldn’t help but flick his eyes on Daryl’s cock. The hunter chuckled. 

“None of that. That one’s out for the count now. Ain’t eighteen no more. Nuh, I had somethin’ else in mind. Ya seemed to like the stuff we did back at the house.” Daryl leaned over and took the bottle. “I’m thinkin’ we gotta practice.” The confident tone waned somewhat. “...if ya want?”

Oh, he wanted. His cock jumped eagerly. Daryl bit down on his bottom lip. He’d noticed.

Rick relaxed on the bed, put an arm under his head and watched the candle flames dance on Daryl’s skin and glint off his eyes. Daryl ran his hands over Rick’s thighs, rubbed gently the skin on his knees, moved back up, skimmed his thumbs up and down the crease at the top of his thighs, and his thumbs kept brushing Rick’s balls. Daryl’s fingertips emitted tiny little shockwaves, and they bounced and tingled on Rick’s body.

Daryl pushed Rick’s legs apart -- left leg bent aside, the right one curled over his belly, Daryl’s hand holding it in place. The hunter moulded his body, and Rick let him, and now he was exposed. The thrill of it prickled on his skin.

“Hold it,” the man rasped. Rick grabbed the back of his thigh; Daryl popped open the bottle and coated three of the fingers in his right hand with the viscous fluid. For a moment, Rick was worried. It looked like an awful lot of fingers...in there. 

Rick scolded himself, a nervous little scoff. If this _practice_ were to be going anywhere, something much bigger would be next. 

Daryl could rip the head off a walker with his bare hands, beat a confession out of a man, yank a bolt off his own body -- but the same hands also picked flowers for a grieving mother, wrapped around Rick’s emotional son, laced fingers with Rick’s, so gentle and shy… Daryl had always been careful not to hurt him, so why would Rick think, even for a second, that there was anything to worry about now?

Rick’s eyes drifted to Daryl’s face, brow furrowed in concentration, taking charge of Rick’s thigh again, lowering his hand, gliding his slick fingers along Rick’s hard cock, over his balls, slow and careful…

When Daryl’s finger brushed over Rick’s hole, the leader wasn’t the only one to let out a quick, gruff breath. Daryl’s teeth sunk into his lip as he watched his finger circle and explore. The touch reminded Rick of yesterday… Daryl was right, he _had_ liked it, and now he was impatient all of a sudden, all worry vanished and forgotten.

“Daryl…” But he didn’t know how to ask. Words wouldn’t come out. How was he this fuckin’ _coy?_

The hunter’s gaze flicked quickly to Rick’s face and back. His finger pressed harder and sank in, just a little. Rick’s heart beat faster.

 _“This what ya want?”_ Daryl’s thought was frayed around the edges, like he couldn’t lock his mind on the words firmly enough. It pleased Rick no end that this thing affected the other man as well.

“Yes. Please.” The words came out in a whimper -- Daryl _pushed_ , and Rick’s channel resisted and yielded and the finger glided deeper and deeper. It was weird; Rick’s body didn’t quite know how to deal with the sensation. One instinct: to repel the invasion. Another one, a stronger, more overwhelming one: to _welcome_ the intrusive finger that was now slowly pumping _in his body_ , for God’s sake… 

...and then Daryl brushed against that sensitive spot. Rick’s low moan mixed with Daryl’s strangled mumble, indistinct, mindless words, _hot, Jesus, Rick…_

Daryl added a second finger, and Rick needed to concentrate, gather his wits enough to relax, not fight against the stretch. The hunter tore his gaze from the place where his fingers ebbed and flowed, in and out, and looked at Rick. The candle flames didn’t glint anymore, Daryl’s eyes were so black they sucked the light right in. _Beautiful, so fuckin’ gorgeous_ , Rick thought, floating in the pleasure.

_“Nah, you are.”_

Oh. He’d thought _at_ Daryl. 

The hunter fucked him in earnest now, hitting the spot every time. Rick’s thigh trembled against Daryl’s palm. And the _sounds_ , good God... the ragged breathing, the moans, the _squelch_ of the lube and the fingers... Rick’s hand drifted from his chest, dipped lower, he needed…

“Yeah.” Daryl’s husky rumble. “Yeah. Touch yourself.”

Rick’s hand flew on his cock. He spread the pool of precum on his stomach over his cock and oh God it felt good… Rick focused his eyes on Daryl, and it was one wave after another: the frantic strokes on his cock, and the lightning bolts from within, and the absolutely ravenous gaze Daryl had aimed at him… with a low, drawn-out groan Rick came all over himself and felt himself clench on Daryl’s fingers, and this time it was him who wondered _what if…_

Drowsy and content, they cleaned up the worst, exthinguished the candles, dove under the blankets. Rick wanted to talk a little, of nothing in particular, just to prolong this moment. One whole day of safety, being together, sleeping another night in the same bed, the tense archer all pliant and warm and _cuddly_. He didn’t want it to end just yet.

Daryl wouldn’t have any chit-chat, however. He buried his head in Rick’s neck and muttered, “‘m tired. Sleep.”

Rick snorted and obediently closed his eyes. He’d almost drifted over to the dreamland when Daryl’s muffled words pulled him back.

“Just two fingers.”

Rick must’ve heard wrong. “What are you talking about?”

“Planned three. Gotta have three to, y’know. I think at least. But ya came.”

Rick spent a moment parsing the disjointed, half-asleep sentences to a meaningful message. When he finally got it, he barked a muted chuckle.

“You do know what that means?”

Daryl’s shaggy hair tickled Rick’s neck as the hunter nodded several times. “Gotta practice more. Tomorrow.”

Rick turned his head to press a fond kiss on his lover’s hair.

“You fiend,” he whispered, and fell asleep.

***

The next day, they went back to the drugstore -- Maggie, Carol, Rick and Daryl. Carol let out a happy little squeak, went at it like a bloodhound, and came back with a giant plastic bag of various feminine hygiene products. 

Maggie cleared her throat, and as she got Rick’s attention, pointed a discreet finger towards the farthest corner. “You might wanna check that out. _Sounds_ like you need all you can find, ‘s all I’m sayin’,” she smirked.

An indignant voice. “Good Lord woman, dontcha got better things to do than listen to… to…” Daryl’s steam ran out and embarrassment took over.

Maggie sniffed. “Well I would’ve _wanted_ to have better things to do but Glenn had that shift, so…”

Daryl escaped. Rick strolled after him, shaking his head and chuckling. Kids these days...

***

They packed in the evening. Rick wanted them on the road early so they’d have the maximum amount of daylight to continue their search. The map they’d found wasn’t a detailed roadmap; they had a rough idea of the direction, and beyond that, they’d just have to go with their gut feeling.

Hershel packed the wall calendar. Rick’s heart warmed when he saw the old man tuck the set of thick paper safely in his bag. The man had his faults -- and who didn’t? -- but he was a kind man.

The mood got stale, little by little. There were sporadic bursts of conversation, but they kept dying down. Rick noticed how everyone’s eyes drifted over the living room and kitchen area, as if saying goodbye already. It had been a good place, they’d had incredible luck finding this house. Everyone understood why they had to leave -- didn’t mean they had to like it. 

Patricia hummed quietly as she braided Beth’s hair. The girl’s eyes were lifeless again, and after the semi-hysterical burst of mirth on the first evening, Rick hadn’t seen the girl smile. She was such a trooper, he kept forgetting she wasn’t yet eighteen. Just a child, really, and unlike Carl, had thus far suffered the apocalypse in the relative safety of her own home. The loss of that home and Jimmy on the same day had hit her hard. He saw Hershel and Maggie throw worried glances at her, but there was only so much anyone could do.

Carl sat on the sofa with Lori. He, too, watched Beth. Suddenly he stood up and left the room, only to return in a few minutes carrying a couple of boardgames. He put them down on the kitchen table.

“I wanna play something. It’s so boring to just sit and do nothing,” he said. He gave an assessing look at the group. “Maggie, Glenn...and Beth, yeah, you three, you play with me.” 

Rick marveled at the boy’s tone of voice. Just the right mix of childish petulance coated with coaxing and good old-fashioned begging. Maggie jumped at the chance to give her little sister something else to think about, and dragged the bewildered Glenn to the kitchen, calling Beth’s name at the same time, brisk and matter-of-fact. Rick saw Beth react, frown, snap out of it just a bit. Patricia gave Beth a small nudge, and the girl rose and sat with the others. She was subdued, but she gained some life in her eyes and color on her cheeks as they played for a good long while.

Daryl had been on guard duty at the time. When they were in their room later that evening, Rick told him the story, trying not to preen too much even though he really, truly, was proud of his son. Daryl leaned on the dresser, hands loosely gripping the edge, one ankle casually crossed over the other one. He listened to the tale without a word. When Rick stopped, the hunter just looked at him. Suddenly there was a brief smile.

“Remember how worried ya were a week ago, about Carl? Ya were all ‘how’m I gonna raise this kid, how’s he ever gonna be ok’. Remember?”

Rick hadn’t, in fact, remembered. It all seemed so distant now. And that Carl who’d yelled “kill him”, who’d been moody and cranky and disobedient… and the Carl who’d hugged Daryl, been on their side, cleverly taken care of Beth… Something must’ve clicked, there must’ve been a critical point somewhere, a crossroads where Carl could’ve taken any one of the paths. And he’d chosen this one.

Rick sat on the foot of the bed, lost in thought. Just realizing what all parents have realized since the time began, and written frickin’ poems about it, and psych textbooks, and still it only became real when you saw it in your own child. That you raised them, and you thought you knew them, simply because they were your flesh and blood. In the end, however, they were their own person, and you knew fuck-all about how they got from a cold-blooded point A to a warm-hearted point B.

The mystery of it scared Rick a little. But at the same time, it also awoke in him a sense of wonder, like looking at a clear, starry sky.

The bed dipped, and Daryl’s arm wound around Rick’s waist.

“You’ve done good. Lori, too. The boy’s almost thirteen, so ‘m guessin’ the worst ain’t over yet. But my money’s on him turnin’ out real good. It’s all there. Just gotta help him out a little. An’ based on what ya just told, he’s gotta have responsibilities. Seems he likes to help. So let him.”

Rick leaned on Daryl. He wanted to brand this moment in his heart. A fleeting moment of perfect happiness. 

***

Even later, Daryl flopped down on the pillow and tried to calm down his breath. Rick smirked and pressed himself tight against the other man’s side. Daryl’s deft fingers had left a pleasant ache, and again the ‘what if…’ flitted through his mind. All in good time. _Practicing_ was fun, too.

Daryl shifted to kiss Rick, and made a face. 

“You taste like me.”

“Don’t complain. You taste great. Trust me on this.”

A thought occurred to Rick, and not the first time, if he was honest with himself. 

“That thing you do… would you like me to do that to you?”

Rick couldn’t see Daryl, they’d already put out the candles, but he felt how he moved. The man was chewing on his lip, thinking what to say. 

“D’you wanna?” he finally said.

Rick skimmed his fingers lightly on Daryl’s skin. He acknowledged his weird fascination with the lines of the man’s clavicles. And with the shape of the muscles on his shoulders. And with the mole on the side of his mouth. And with -- _oh, right, back on the subject._ He cleared his throat.

“It feels pretty goddamn nice. So I was just wondering… would you let me give that to you?”

“Didn’t figure you’d wanna.”

“Just goes to show even you can be wrong sometimes,” Rick teased. On a more serious tone he continued, “But only if you want to. Only if you like that kinda thing.”

Rick had kept a tight lid on thoughts about someone else’s hands on Daryl. By this age, everyone was bound to have a history. They hadn’t exactly swapped stories, and Rick really didn’t want to, either, but Daryl had let out a few words. Whether those experiences were pleasant memories or not, Rick had no idea, however. So it was better to ask. Rick would rather avoid crashing into more sudden _don’ts_ , if possible.

“Umm...okay.” An indistinct mumble.

“Just ‘okay’? I ain’t about to do anything you don’t want to, Daryl. You don’t have to go for that sorta thing just to, y’know, satisfy my curiosity, or whatever.” Rick nuzzled Daryl’s temple and kissed him at the corner of his eye.

“No, I mean…” The way Daryl moved told Rick the man was biting the side of his thumb. “I mean, like, _okay_. Man, don’t make me _ask_ for it, alright?”

Rick suppressed a smile; instead, he kissed his lover again, and settled down to sleep. 

Who’d know what tomorrow would bring -- leaving this house and all. But this right here? This was something worth fighting for.

  
  



	14. Simmering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something for you guys to read this fine Friday :) Probably the longest chapter so far -- enjoy!
> 
> You may have noticed that the total number of chapters has now been changed (15->20). I’m currently working on nbr 19 and my best guesstimate at the moment is that it’ll take one more chapter to wrap this up. The final chapter may or may not end up being a giant monster of a chapter, in which case I will see if there’s a good place to split it in two, in which case I will update the total chapter count a second time. I can’t be bothered to stress over the total nbr anymore -- it’ll be what it’ll be. Look, I’m so very zen!!! :D  
> Daryl Dixon would be proud of me ;)

***eight days after the farm***

The first car they ditched was the old pick-up. Too much gas, too few seats. The practical, impersonal Chevy hatchback they’d taken from the baddies at the farm was a more sensible choice. The fate of the pick-up seemed to herald other car-related setbacks, however. Three days later, the said hatchback stopped working. No weird screeches, no ominous clunks -- the engine just wouldn’t start, whatever they tried. Glenn and Daryl poked around under the hood, but the car was new enough to be too computerized for their skills. Carol moved to Rick’s car, and Patricia and Hershel traveled in the RV.

Rick was worried. Not that there was any shortage of available cars, no. Gas would become a problem at some point, though. And not one of them was a competent mechanic, which wouldn’t have been an issue if they’d had a comfortable, secure base camp where they’d have all the time in the world to learn by doing. Tinker away with the engines for weeks on end.

However, they didn’t have any of that.

***two weeks after the farm***

Carol stood looking out the window. She was cleaning the gun she kept in a holster strapped to her thigh. The way she handled the weapon was competent, the movements precise, yet somehow absent-minded -- her attention was on whatever was going on in the yard. Rick leaned on the doorframe and observed the thin woman; she was another goddamn mystery. He couldn’t get a handle on the woman, couldn’t really read her, she kept her feelings to herself. 

But Daryl liked her, and Rick trusted his friend’s instincts on this. And he had a good vibe about the woman, he appreciated her no-nonsense attitude and the way she’d pulled herself together after Sophia. Hell, probably not just after Sophia -- more like after years of spousal abuse. The woman was downright blossoming.

Rick heard noises outside. Talking, even laughter.

“What’s going on?” He strolled closer to Carol.

“School’s in session.” Carol smiled. “Professor Dixon is lecturing.”

“What…?” Rick peered out to the yard of the neat little house they’d found yesterday after an exhausting scuffle and a hasty retreat from their previous camp. They’d beat a group of walkers but, as it turned out, it had been just the first wave of a larger batch, and they’d been forced to leave in a hurry.

It was the early days of November, and the weather was crisp and clear. Daryl paced on the dead lawn in front of the attentive eyes of Beth and Carl. Beth had the knife Daryl had taken at the farm; Carl was holding a mean-looking Bowie knife. Daryl was waving his own hunting knife in a series of cuts and thrusts, and apparently telling the kids to follow his lead as the whole scene started to look like a frickin’ aerobics lesson with a grumpy trainer and overeager trainees.

Not far from those three, Lori stood by, arms crossed, a stony expression on her face. She kept watch but didn’t do anything to prevent the lesson.

Rick started -- Shane had appeared right by his shoulder. 

“Your fucktoy’s making a little killer out of your son. Is there _anything_ you won’t let him do?”

Rick was so done with these little gibes.

“All I see is Daryl teaching them survival skills. I seem to recall you taught Carl how to shoot. Ain’t no different, the way I see it,” he answered with a bored tone.

Shane gave an annoyed huff and walked out, T-Dog hard on his heels. Shane was allowed a certain amount of freedom of movement -- but he wasn’t allowed to carry a gun, just to use one if they all had to fight. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and they couldn’t afford to just drag Shane along in shackles. No, he earned his keep by working and fighting, same as everyone else in the group.

T-Dog had made it his personal business to watch the man, though, and Rick admitted to himself that he got a kick out of Shane’s annoyed expression. 

To be fair, Rick supposed the man tried to behave. He hadn’t given them any reason to think he’d stab them all in the back. But Shane was used to being respected, even admired, and he wasn’t handling this very well, this unpopularity and wary eyes. The group didn’t really know how to treat him, so they worked around it by mostly ignoring the man. That, of course, ruffled his feathers no end.

Outside, Shane moseyed towards Lori. Rick watched their interaction with curiosity: Shane’s tentative hello, Lori’s polite but stiff smile. She didn’t walk away, they did exchange a few words, but Lori’s eyes were glued on the lesson, and this time at least Shane could read the room, and he gave up and focused on watching the practice as well.

Carol hadn’t reacted to Shane at all. Nothing got past her, though.

“He failed again.”

“So he did.”

“Keeps trying to get a rise out of you.”

“An’ I keep disappointing him. Honestly, it’s not even difficult. The guy tried to kill me. That’s pretty much as bad as it can get. As long as he doesn’t get under Daryl’s skin, I let him vent. It’s just words.”

Outside, Daryl had placed a few basketballs on the ground.

“So _that’s_ why he took them,” Carol said, amused. “This morning when we were checking out the shed in the back yard. All for educational purposes.”

Shane glowered at the trio. Daryl didn’t spare a glance for the man, his focus was on the kids. Carl tried to twirl the Bowie and of course it slipped from his inexperienced hand and fell, blade first, only inches from Carl’s toes. Rick sensed the shock in Daryl’s mind and heard him, _“Your kid’s a frickin’ menace, Rick!”_

_Ok, so we don’t need to be in the same room to do that. Good to know._

Beth was wide-eyed but stifled a giggle behind her hand. Poor Carl, he blushed, and picked up the knife, and Rick saw him mouth “sorry” to Daryl. The man bit down the earful he had been about to unleash -- probably deemed the embarrassment punishment enough -- and just ruffled the boy’s hair.

The look Carl gave to Daryl was full-on adoring. And Shane’s glower grew even darker.

_I’m going to hell. I’m enjoying Shane’s jealousy and misery. Yep. I’m going to hell._

Carol put the gun back in the holster and turned to Rick.

“You know, back at the quarry, if somebody had suggested that Daryl’s good with kids, has missed his calling as a teacher, I would’ve not only laughed, I would’ve seriously questioned that person’s grasp on reality. I mean, I know I’m not the best judge of character -- I married Ed, after all -- so who am I to say anything, but yeah, I’d never have guessed.”

“I don’t think he would’ve guessed it, either,” Rick said, watching the hunter clap Beth on the shoulder after a particularly successful basketball braining.

***three weeks after the farm***

The fall had turned into a winter, and of course it would be an unusually chilly weather for a November. The only bright side was that the walkers didn’t seem to like it any more than the living. They became slower, their movements more laborious. The group had no problem taking down a dozen of them in the bright yellow cottage they’d found after driving around in circles the whole day, trying to find a village or a small town that wouldn’t have been overrun with walkers. 

The group had become less and less a creaky engine. Daryl didn’t have to assign tasks anymore, everyone knew what to do. Even Shane had dispensed with the usual snarks for a moment. It had been a shitty day. By the time that they’d more or less settled down in the cottage, it was already dark, and the temperature must’ve dropped close to the freezing point. Rick grabbed a blanket and one of the sandwiches Beth had prepared for them, and left to take care of his shift on the RV. _Thank God there’s no wind_ , he thought, and wrapped the blanket tight around himself. 

Soon, someone was climbing the ladder, and Rick really wasn’t surprised to see Daryl. More often than not, they kept each other company like this. Whole shifts went by without a word; it was enough to _know_ the other one was there.

Rick felt like talking this time. There was something he’d been meaning to ask many times; it just never seemed like the right time for it, so he’d put it off. He’d test the waters now.

“Can I ask you something?” he began with a low voice.

“Mmhm.”

“The interrogation with Randall...and the guy at the farm, Lenny or whatever… your reaction, y’know, it seemed you didn’t take it well. So I was just wondering…” Rick almost backed down at this point. How had he thought this was a good idea, to bring up something like this?

“You’s wondering if I’s raped?” Daryl’s voice was surprisingly even. 

“Mmhm. I’m sorry, dunno what I was thinking, you don’t have to-”

“No. ‘s ok.” Daryl was silent for a minute. “Nothin’ like that, though. I mean, hasn’t happened to me.” 

He sighed and scratched his stubble. “It was a long time ago, twenty years, probably. I’s just a kid, barely out of high school. There was this chick that used to hang out with us. She was...different, y’know, an’ I remember wonderin’ why she put up with the likes of us, but she had this friend who was really into what Merle had to offer -- the good times of the chemical sort, y’know -- so I guess she just tagged along, being new in town an’ all. She was real nice. Decent. Had all these plans about the future. Liked to study, had done well in high school, had applied for a scholarship. She wanted to be a doctor, and we used to joke about it -- I mean, people like us, we don’t get to be doctors, y’know. But she had this bright-eyed thing goin’ and the gang kinda liked her. Nobody treated her bad, or anything. We spent a lot of time together, an’ Merle an’ the guys thought we were an item, an’ I let them think whatever. She _knew_ , she was the only one I ever told…”

Rick had a bad feeling about the direction of the story, but Daryl was caught up in it now, the quiet words were pouring out of him, and Rick wondered if he’d ever talked about this to anyone.

“Thinkin’ back, she was the closest thing to a friend I ever had, until the world ended an’ now I can’t turn around without stumblin’ on a friend which is kinda nice, sure… but back then, it wasn’t like that.”

“Something happened, though?”

Daryl drew a deep breath. “Yeah, somethin’ happened alright. A few new dudes came into town and found us -- like seeks like, and all that. They weren’t...an’ we didn’t realize soon enough… Y’know, our gang, we weren’t nice people. Did all sorts of stuff you’d frown upon, bein’ a deputy an’ all. An’ the girls -- well, you saw Merle, ya heard him talk, ya can probably guess how he talked around ladies as well. Fuck, he had a filthy mouth, an’ he wasn’t even the worst of them. But the thing is, most of the guys talked real rough about girls, but when it came right down to it, rough talk was all there was. ‘m not sayin’ there mightn’t have been some gray areas with the ‘yes’ sometimes, an’ I ain’t about to defend that... but they could handle a ‘no’ just fine, if ya know what I mean. But these new guys…” Daryl rubbed his eye and curled his lips, remembering. “...we were gonna meet that night in the empty house we used to stay in, but we were late, the deal Merle was handlin’ went south an’ there was all sorts of shit, so it was more than an hour later our gang got there. She’d been early, an’ so were those new guys, an’... by the time we got there, she was bleedin’ real bad, barely conscious. We got her to the hospital in time an’ she didn’t die. Not then. The cops looked for those guys but I don’t think they found them.”

“What about her?” But Rick figured he already knew the answer.

“Yeah. She killed herself a week after she got out of hospital.”

Rick didn’t know what to say.

“I tried to help her but… but she wouldn’t let me. Wouldn’t talk to me, didn’t want me anywhere near her. Probably blamed us. Me. For letting those guys in the gang.”

“Wasn’t your fault.”

“Dunno about that. Should’ve seen it comin’, somehow. Should’ve noticed _something_ about them.”

“You were young.”

“Well, I grew up real quick after that.” Daryl shivered. “But yeah. Hearin’ about that stuff kinda takes me back.”

Rick drew the man under his blanket. The world had had its share of monsters even before the walkers.

***four weeks after the farm***

The scavenging had taken all day, and not much to show for it. A few cans of beans and crushed tomatoes, milk powder and a pack of pasta. They found a stash of canned fruit in one of the houses. Apparently someone had had a taste for sliced pineapple because there’d been at least a dozen cans of it. In the last house they’d checked (spoils: several packages of puffed rice cakes), Rick had misstepped when he’d turned too swiftly to plunge his knife through a lurking walker’s eye, and he’d twisted his ankle. Nothing too bad, but when the two of them finally reached the camp, he had a noticeable limp.

Carol rummaged through their bags. “What took you so long?” she snarled, short-tempered, as they all were, what with the constant hunger and cold.

It was like Shane had been given a cue. “Nice limp you got there, Ricky-boy. Gotta say, I had sorta hoped that even with your new lifestyle choices, you’d still been the _man_ , y’know what I’m sayin’… But hey, good for you, lover boy, you get to boss the boss around. You must really have taken your time with it, seeing how bad the limp is…”

It wasn’t the first time Shane had mouthed off like that, sure. But they’d had really bad luck these few days, everyone was tired and hungry, and so the whole group turned to look at Shane, eyes wide open, amazed at how the man had it in him to waste energy on the pointless hostility. Weeks had passed, and even though Shane still wasn’t trusted on a guard shift alone, he now carried a gun, and Andrea didn’t mind chatting with him, and the others were perfectly civilized towards the man. But the guy had a giant chip on his shoulder, and just wouldn’t give up on the slurs and insults. This time, however, the whole group seemed to have reached its limit.

“Dude, what’s your problem?”

“Yeah, cut it out already.”

“Don’t we have bigger problems than who fucks who?”

Those were Glenn, T-Dog, and -- to everyone’s surprise and Hershel’s horror -- the mild-mannered Beth, respectively. The irritated gleam in her eyes warned everyone to stay off her case unless they’d like to hear more on the subject. Even Shane was shocked silent.

Then a familiar drawl jolted them back. “Y’know Shane, this here makes me wonder… Ya seem weirdly interested in Rick’s sex life. An’ this ain’t the first time either. Ya just can’t seem to hold off your curiosity. So I gotta ask… somethin’ ya wanna tell us? Get off your chest? Feel bad it’s _me_ between the sheets with Rick?”

Heads were turning, like watching a tennis match. Maggie sent a fist bump to Daryl’s direction; from Glenn, he received an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Shane looked like he was on the verge of apoplexy. 

The situation went even more downhill from there for Shane. Lori had kept her distance from both Rick and Shane ever since the farm. Towards Rick she was polite and co-operative but kept any personal discussion on Carl, nothing more. As far as Rick could tell, she never talked to Shane if she could avoid it, but Rick _knew_ that Shane had always counted her to be on his side -- both of them being the ‘injured parties’, at least from his point of view.

So it must’ve come as a nasty shock for him to hear Lori’s voice now, all cold and unfriendly. “Shane, we get you have your issues with Rick and Daryl. Well, boo-hoo. Grow up, will you! You’re in no position to speak like that, and you really can’t afford to make more enemies than you already have. And whatever you may think about their relationship,” she pointed at Rick and Daryl without even looking at them; her eyes were burrowed in Shane, “let this be the last time you speak like that to either of them or so help me God... _Carl’s_ here, goddamnit Shane! You’re talking like that about _Carl’s father_! Or was that too just a lie, the caring about Carl?” 

Lori paused to draw breath. “Stop being so childish! You think you can fool us, Rick and me? You think we actually _buy_ your homophobic crap? You loved hanging out with Ian and Mike -- Jesus, Shane, you think we’ve forgotten all the parties where you three got drunk as skunks and argued about Star Trek and Star Wars? And that deputy you used to go to gym with, what was his name…” She glanced at Rick and snapped her fingers impatiently.

“Pat,” Rick helped her, amused.

“Yeah, Pat, you liked him, you kept bugging Ian and Mike about ‘helping the poor guy to find someone’. So what the everlovin’ _fuck_ ” -- Rick’s eyebrows shot upwards, Lori never used foul language like that -- “do you think you’re doing? You wanna trash-talk the best friend you had for close to forty years _and_ then tried to kill, at least think of something more interesting. Hell, you _owe_ him some innovative insults!”

Carl looked at her mother in admiration. “Go, mom!” 

The subsequent silence echoed in their ears. Then Rick cleared his throat.

“Well, I think that’s enough on that subject for tonight. We brought back some stuff, not as much as we’d hoped but it should tide us over for a day, maybe two. And Hershel? You mind taking a look at my ankle? Twisted it a bit back there.” He pointedly did not glance at Shane.

“Yeah, Rick twirled like a fuckin’ ballerina when the walker came at him. Clumsy idiot…” Daryl rumbled.

***five weeks after the farm***

Five weeks already, and nothing. They’d found _nothing_. 

The nausea was still going strong. Lori puked twice a day, regular as clockwork. She’d transferred to the RV a few weeks back, after a particularly nasty incident of throwing up in the Hyundai. “I guess I must be two months now,” Lori had said one evening, when Maggie had asked how far did she think she was. 

The pregnancy. The infant. Just another thing to cause nightmares. Sometimes they were safe inside a house, huddled together for warmth -- sometimes they were cold for days on end. Sometimes they ate well if the scavenging had been good and if Daryl had managed to catch a rabbit or a few squirrels. But sometimes, too often, they went hungry. How on earth were they supposed to manage enough food, warmth, shelter, to keep a pregnant woman going through the winter? And in the middle of a world where understanding the need for keeping silent was crucial, how were they supposed to handle an infant? And what if something went wrong? Lori had had a C-section when Carl was born.

After the incident with Shane, Lori had started to be more at ease around Rick and Daryl. As if she’d come to the conclusion that she had too many actual problems to keep on acting like a slighted queen. 

Rick wondered if she had the same nightmares he had.

***

As it turned out, she did. A few days later, Rick was on an afternoon guard shift with Daryl, pacing the small back porch of the house they were currently squatting in. Lori walked straight at them, looking grim and hesitant. She stopped at the lowest step of the porch stairs.

“Rick, can I talk to you?”

“Sure. What’s the problem?” It was telling, somehow, that the only reason Lori _would_ want to speak to Rick was about some _problem_. Things had become more relaxed between them, yes, but leisurely chitchat? They weren’t there yet.

Lori didn’t answer, just let her eyes drift to Daryl. The hunter paid no attention to the silent hint, just raised an eyebrow. Rick groaned to himself but didn’t want to interfere. Lori either talked to them both, as a unit, or dealt with Daryl herself, like a goddamn _grown-up_ , which they were all supposed to be.

“Daryl, would you mind if I talked to Rick alone?”

Her tone was a pleasant surprise. Granted, it wasn’t exactly _warm_ , but it wasn’t forced, either -- it was simply polite and easy.

Daryl chose to go with the flow, and Rick was kind of proud of them both. 

“Yeah, sure. I’ll just go check if the fire’s still going. Warm my hands. These gloves don’t do shit.”

When he was around the corner, Lori walked up the stairs. Rick tried to interpret her expression. Was she here to fight? Was there something about Carl? She didn’t look like she’d been sleeping well, there were dark shadows under her eyes -- but then, they’d had a bad few days and sleep had been in short supply for them all. So, he waited for a few long minutes for whatever was coming.

Lori’s voice was frail when she finally opened her mouth.

“Have you ever thought…” her voice trailed off. She started again. “No. Probably not, and it’s not like you’re supposed to. It’s just… it’s not yours, I know, but… what if there’s something wrong with the baby, Rick? What if… what if… that virus you said we all have… did Jenner say anything..?”

With a heavy heart, Rick shook his head.

“I told you every word Jenner said to me. It was just before the blast, there wasn’t exactly time for asking questions. I don’t even think he would’ve known. I don’t know if we were born with it, or if we just, somehow, got infected, and I don’t know if it’s transmitted to babies.”

Lori’s eyes were hopeless, her hands stuffed in her pockets, her posture rigid. Rick touched her arm; there was precious little he could do to comfort her. 

“Have you talked to Hershel?”

“He doesn’t know anything. Doesn’t want to guess, either. Because that’s all it would be: guessing.”

“What about Shane? I’d think he’d be interested. He… You know how it is between him and me now, but I gotta say, I think he’d care.” 

Rick was reluctant to bring his old friend up, but there was no way around the fact that the man was the father and quite concretely more involved in this pregnancy than Rick. And he had to admit Shane had taken a turn for the better after Lori’s public censure; it had taken all the wind out of his sails, given a swift kick in his ass, or something, because Rick hadn’t seen Shane act this normal in, well, pretty much since before Rick’s coma. Funnily enough, the incident seemed to have done him good.

Lori shook her head.

“No. Rick, look,” she aimed a hard look at Rick, “I know I made a mess of things with you two. Looking back I...I’d like to say it wasn’t _me_ , or that I don’t know what got into me, but…” she bit her lip and sighed. “It was me alright, and I can’t escape from it. I’ve had a lot of time to think lately. I know there’s no going back, not with you, obviously. Not with Shane, either. And I don’t know how to talk to him anymore.”

She drew a slow, deep breath.

“But I can’t do this alone, Rick. I’m scared. I keep having nightmares. Maybe… maybe something goes wrong, maybe it dies and eats its way out of me? Maybe the virus will somehow change, evolve? Maybe the baby will be born a monster? Carl’s pregnancy was difficult enough, and it’s not like I can just go to a hospital now. Maybe something goes wrong during labor? There’s a horror movie in my head every night, and I just… I can’t do this alone.”

“What do you need from me?” It wasn’t a challenge, it was a request for specifics. Like making a shopping list: I need this, and this, and this.

Lori looked up again, startled by the businesslike question.

“I don’t know, exactly… Maybe just this,” she waved her hand between them, “talking with you about this. I need to know…” she swallowed, “that you’ll be there for me if, if, something goes wrong.”

“Come here,” Rick said, and held out his arms. Time to let go of old grievances. She had been his friend, his lover, his wife, for a very long time. She was Carl’s mother. And she was a member of his group, just as alone and scared as they all were. 

Lori hugged him back, hot tears flowing on her cold cheeks.

“Back at the farm, I told you I’d take care of you. That hasn’t changed any.”

Lori backed out of the hug and wiped the tears away. “Thank you.”

When Lori had vanished behind the corner, Rick heard the soft crunch of frozen leaves behind him. The hunter wasn’t trying to hide his movements. Without turning his head, Rick asked, “How much did you hear?”

“Some of it.” Daryl walked to him, wound his arm around Rick’s waist. “Wasn’t tryin’ to eavesdrop but you people don’t pay enough attention to your surroundings.”

Rick turned his head slightly, enough to press their foreheads together. Their shared silence gave him strength. He breathed in, breathed out, braced himself.

“I have the same nightmares,” Rick blurted. 

“It ain’t wrong to care. An’ I get the worry. Ain’t like I haven’t thought about it, too. I think if you’d ask people, they’d all tell ya the same. I’m sorry to say but this ain’t only Lori’s nightmare, or yours...it’s _ours_. We don’t know what happens. An’ if the baby ain’t ok, it’s game over for us all.”

Rick drew back and looked at his partner, aghast.

“Seems you’ve thought about this a lot.”

“Just ‘cause I don’t blab all the time…”

Rick snorted. “Ok, ok. But you didn’t think to talk about this with me?”

“Oh, like you talked about it with me? Had all those nightmares and talked about them with me like there was no shuttin’ ya up?”

Rick gave a half-smile. “You got me there. You’d think that with the mind-reading crap we’d communicate enough but nooooo…”

Daryl huffed and squeezed him a bit tighter. “Can’t believe I’m sayin’ this but we gotta talk more.” His voice grew deadly serious. “The margin of error is real small these days."

  
  


***six weeks after the farm***

Hershel sat down beside Rick at the kitchen table in the small summer house they were holed in for the second day. “I think it’s the fifth today.”

“December?”

The old man nodded. He looked haggard. They all did. The house wasn’t warm, and last night none of them had slept well. Not only because of the cold but because of the walkers. A bunch of them -- two dozen, maybe -- had bumped into the yard in the early hours of the morning. Thank God they had those guards; the house was a flimsy thing with huge windows, and the dead would’ve just marched in.

 _Maybe we could stay here for a few days_ , Rick thought. _Take a risk with the fireplace and try to warm up the cottage._ For once, the food situation wasn’t too bad, they’d found a decent stash of flour and canned food only two days ago, and Carol and Beth had gotten quite good at baking bread on open fire. Maybe that pack of walkers was the only one in the area. Maybe Carol could manage baking something sweet. Maybe Carl could have his birthday without wading in bodies.

An awful lot of maybes.

***

Everyone knew, of course -- except for Carl. Rick had told Lori about his plan to give their son his birthday. Lori had stared at him for a moment, tears welling up in her eyes, and she’d confessed she hadn’t even thought about a party, not with the constant running and nausea and fighting and...had she already mentioned nausea? 

Then they’d told Carol, and that had really got the ball rolling. She’d passed the word along and rolled up her sleeves in earnest.

For Rick, this was about his child, but in all honesty, he hadn’t thought the group would be so interested in it. But this birthday had taken up a life of its own, become symbolic somehow, and they were all hell-bent on making the day something special.

For weeks now, those on scavenging duty had searched for things suitable for presents. New things, just for Carl -- not stuff from someone else’s homes. A deck of cards, a few comic books, a couple of precious chocolate bars -- small things, easy to carry, not taking up too much space in the car. 

Daryl had given the boy his first guard shift, and Carl was proudly freezing on the roof of the RV, blissfully ignorant of the preparations in the house. As napkins, balloons and gift wrapping paper weren’t exactly crucial for survival, they hadn’t been too difficult to find in the shops. They put a cheerful tablecloth (looted a few weeks ago) on the table, lighted candles, set the presents, and finally sent Beth out to fetch Carl. T-Dog was prepared to take up the shift, but they’d decided to risk a ten-minute period, just so that everyone could be there to sing Happy birthday.

Rick heard Carl’s confused questions outside. “But there’s no guard now? It hasn’t been two hours yet, has it?”

Beth’s soothing voice. “Yeah but your dad needs you inside right now. Just for a minute. Then you can go back.”

The booming sound of their song took Carl completely by surprise. Rick wouldn’t have missed the boy’s expression for the world -- he’d never forget Carl’s face as he took in the decorations, the candles, the presents, the group grinning and singing.

“What…” he tried in a feeble voice. 

Carol laughed, her whole face transformed by the rare, open laughter. “Welcome to the teen years! Have fun and open the presents. We don’t have cake, I’m sorry to say, but we have maple syrup, and later, I’ll make pancakes.”

Carl rushed to the table. The first gift he unwrapped was three comic books.

“When you’re done reading those, can I borrow them?” asked Glenn’s friendly voice at the same moment as Shane quipped, “Hey, no reading on guard shift!”

Carl dove in to the pile of presents. 

Rick knew what most of the gifts were, but he was curious about the largish, rectangular box wrapped in yellow, glittery paper. He had no idea what was in it, or even who it was from.

Carl kept glancing at the yellow box, seemed to want to save it for last. He enjoyed every gift -- simple, modest presents, and Rick was sure that only a year ago the boy would’ve smiled politely but looked down his nose at the travel-sized chess game, the pair of warm socks, or the small selection of crayons and a pad of drawing paper. 

Finally, it was just the yellow box. Carl ripped off the paper -- and froze. Rick tried to sneak a peek but Carl’s body blocked his view. The boy turned his head and scanned the group, looking for…

“It’s a crossbow,” he said in a voice full of wonder, and stared at Daryl.

Daryl leaned on the wall, hands in his pockets, uncomfortable with all of them suddenly turning to look at him. He stole a furtive glance at Rick.

“Yeah, it’s a crossbow. Smaller than a regular one, meant for kids like you.”

Carl completely forgot he’d reached the mature, dignified age of 13. He squeaked and ran to hug the man. “You’ll teach me? Today?”

Daryl huffed a laugh. “Nah, today we got Carol’s pancakes, an’ then it’ll be too dark for practice. We’ll try tomorrow.”

Carl let the man go and returned to his presents. His gaze drifted over the small pile of items. He brushed the crossbow box a few times, possessive, in awe. He took the green woollen scarf and wrapped it around his neck, trying it out.

He turned to the others. “Thanks,” he said. “I didn’t even remember...I didn’t even know what month it was now… I can’t believe you…” 

Rick stepped forward and hugged his son. “You’re welcome.”

A regular flood of hugs, kisses on the cheek, and claps on the shoulder followed. T-Dog and Glenn stopped to look at the crossbow box; Lori gave it a glance as well, and turned to Daryl who’d come nearer.

“Isn’t it dangerous? Thing like that in a child’s hands.” She wasn’t trying to pick a fight -- her tone was just that of a worried mother, nothing more.

“Yeah, about that…” Daryl nudged Carl to get his attention. “Hey kiddo, let’s get the rules clear: y’don’t even _look_ at that crossbow unless I’m there to supervise ya. Don’t make me regret gettin’ it for ya, ok?”

Carl nodded and looked at Lori with uncertain eyes. “I can keep it, right? Mom?” He turned to Rick. “Dad?”

“As long as you do exactly as Daryl says. And I mean it: _exactly_ as he says.”

Rick sighed to himself, relieved. At least Lori wasn’t going to be difficult about this.

He, however, had something to say to his partner.

***

Bellies full of pancakes and maple syrup, the group moved on with their daily chores. For a moment, their spirits were uplifted by the sheer frivolity of the birthday party. _Just goes to show humans can’t live by survival alone_ , Rick thought, and sent a short prayer to whoever was listening that their good mood could go on for a bit longer.

The cottage was warmer now, thanks to the fire they’d kept in the fireplace for a few hours. Another prayer flitted through Rick’s mind: _please don’t let bad people see the smoke_. But it was worth the risk, to be warm, to know that the heat would hold for tonight and they’d all maybe get a good night’s sleep.

Rick lounged in a worn armchair and watched Daryl chat with Maggie and Glenn. Well, mostly it was Maggie and Glenn chatting, and Daryl observing, sometimes reacting with a few selected words or maybe a frown or a chuckle. Rick glanced outside; it was still light, but twilight wasn’t far. He wanted to speak with Daryl in peace, and a quick perimeter check would be the perfect chance to do it. With some regret, he pushed himself up from the warm chair and started to put on his jacket. 

“Daryl?”

The man turned to Rick. “Yeah?”

“I’m thinking perimeter. Wanna join me?”

Within minutes, they were circling the cottage. For the past few hours, Rick had mulled over how to approach the issue. Had wondered about the law of averages, as well. As in, how likely was it that a new leader and an even newer right-hand man (who, by the way, also happened to be in a very new relationship with each other _and_ who were in a middle of an apocalypse) could’ve gone almost two months without a single squabble concerning their personal life? And only that one conflict on the farm about the professional side of their relationship. No, Rick corrected himself, there had been that thing about Rick not having told Daryl about the walker virus, but did that even qualify? It had been a tiny misunderstanding at the very start of their relationship. After that, nothing.

So he had no practice whatsoever on how to talk to Daryl when… Oh, ok. Daryl was already throwing sideglances at him. Daryl with his sensitivity about the vibes people were sending -- he must’ve already guessed this wasn’t just some leisurely stroll.

“Ya gonna keep me guessin’ or tell me what I did wrong?” 

“You really have no idea?” 

It came out not as a question, but as an accusation. The kind of thing Lori had often thrown at Rick, and Rick had hated it, he hadn’t known how to fight that passive-aggressive attitude, had been defenceless in fact. So, less than two months into a new relationship, he’d brought _this_ along from the old one? Great. Just fucking _great_.

Rick despised himself a little. Especially when he saw Daryl bite down a snappish reply, and heard the stiff tone of his voice.

“Wouldn’t be askin’ if I knew.”

There and then, Rick made a promise to himself. Goddamnit, he would _not_ repeat the old mistakes. He and Daryl, they’d make their own mistakes, stumble on pits and bumps that’d be peculiar to just them. But _fuck_ if Rick wasn’t capable of learning from the past. 

“I’m sorry. Of course you wouldn’t. I’ve been chewing on this since morning and I shouldn’t have. I just… Daryl, I wish you’d told me.”

“Oh… This is about the crossbow?” Daryl stopped walking and frowned. “Why?” he asked, confused.

“ _Why?_ Daryl, you gave a lethal weapon to my barely 13-year-old son, and didn’t think to ask me or Lori if we’re ok with it.” Rick had been angry for a while there, but there was precious little of it left anymore. It was dawning on him that the hunter really had no inkling that he’d done anything wrong. Had no idea there were social norms and polite conventions, and had crashed right through the lines of the social hierarchy of parents and not-parents. 

Again, Rick saw Daryl fight against an irritated retort. The hunter swallowed. “I...didn’t know I should’ve. He has a gun. An’ ya never said I couldn’t teach him to use a crossbow. So when I saw that box in a sports store a few weeks ago, I just thought…” 

Daryl’s face was devastated now, and Rick’s heart crunched into a tiny, painful tangle. Why he’d ever thought that Daryl would overstep this line intentionally, would scoff and disregard Rick or Lori like that… what exactly had Rick thought? What evidence had Daryl _ever_ given him about not respecting Rick’s status as Carl’s dad? How much meaning did those conventions even hold anymore, when raising children could very well be a question of life and death to the humankind as a whole, not just to a mom or a dad?

Oh yes, not to mention the tiny fact that the hunter was fast taking up a role of a father figure in his own right in Carl’s life. Also, Rick had personally given him the operative responsibility, and arming and training the group surely fell under that role. 

_Wow_. The only one around here that had made a blunder seemed to be Rick himself. He still thought Daryl should’ve said something to Rick first, but Rick could’ve _talked_ to him about it. Not this...this _reprimand_ he’d given to his partner.

“It’s alright-”

“It obviously ain’t. We wouldn’t be talkin’ about this if it was.”

“No, I really mean it. It’s alright. I got worked up over nothing, and I’m sorry for that. Gotta be honest, I still wish you’d spoken with me about the crossbow, but I guess I was oversensitive about it. You’re absolutely right, he does have a gun, and I never said you couldn’t teach him. In time, it’ll be another way for him to defend himself, so it’s all good.”

“What, I overstepped the mark?” Daryl’s hackles were still up.

“I said I’m sorry. Can you accept that? Can you see this from my point of view at all?” Rick kept his voice calm.

Daryl opened his mouth to reply -- or maybe to retort -- but closed it before anything got out. He stared over Rick’s shoulder at nothing, processing, processing… 

“Fine.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I can.” He bit his lips and looked around, eyes darting at anything but Rick. “I’m no good at this, y’know, I warned ya.”

Rick frowned. “Good at what?”

“Relationship stuff. Relationship and Carl, y’know. Kids.”

Rick barked a short laugh. “You’re great with kids. Everyone has noticed it. Carl pretty much worships the ground you walk on. Even more important, he _listens_ to you. Beth respects you. How haven’t you seen this? Just _look_ at them sometimes. When you’re teaching them, or assigning tasks. Just _look_.”

He got serious again. “And about the relationship stuff… I got no complaints. I couldn’t wish for a better partner.” Rick felt his cheeks warm up. Tender words had been few and far between, there never really seemed to be a right moment for them, and somehow that made it all the more momentous when something did manage to wriggle through the seams.

Daryl seemed to feel the weight of it, too. The tips of his ears were already tinged pink with the cold; now the color spread to his cheeks, and Rick couldn’t help but smile. The man was frickin’ _adorable_.

Rick went on. “About Carl… We’re not the first stepfamily in the world. I bet every one of them has had these same kinds of conversations. You’re finding your place in my and Carl’s life; I’m getting used to having you as an equal parent to him. We both have learning to do, a balance to find. This thing with the crossbow...we both stumbled a little. Won’t be the last time, either, I bet.”

Rick would’ve wanted to say more. Deliver a goddamn speech on the subject, full of deep meaning and eloquence, so that Daryl would really _get_ all this, all that Rick had figured out himself just a second ago.

But maybe Daryl got it already. He was looking straight at Rick now, eyes soft.

“Fine.” There was no trace of fight in the word anymore. “We good now? ‘m freezing, an’ we still got to finish the round.” 

Rick tried to reconcile the soft gaze and the curt words, and kept silent for a beat too long. Daryl’s mouth twitched in a tiny smile. He stepped close and brought their foreheads together, cold skin against cold skin. His hand reached for Rick’s.

“Ya don’t have your gloves,” he reproached in a low voice.

“Forgot. Was too worried about this conversation,” Rick mumbled.

“Idiot,” Daryl said, and there was so much affection in his voice that Rick’s heart fluttered, and he knew.

Now, they were good.

  
  



	15. Analyses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 15 for you, dear all <3
> 
> (In case you haven't already noticed, I adore your comments, so please, keep them coming :) I have enormous respect for readers who take the time to click on that 'comment' button and write down their thoughts -- long, or short, one word or five thousand -- no matter, I value them all <3 )

***nine weeks after the farm***

According to Hershel it was Christmas, give or take a few days. They’d been running a streak of bad luck and worse luck since they’d had to leave the summer cottage two weeks back. 

Rick knew it was unwise to stay in any one place for several days, but the winter had been cold and exhausting so far, and it wasn’t even halfway through yet, and goddamnit, why couldn’t they find anything more permanent already? Thank God, the cars were holding up and they’d found gas, but all the best locations they’d found had already been taken by other survivors, or had been too close to large numbers of walkers. And of course, where there were more people, there were less untapped stores and more risk of running into needless trouble. 

Shane didn’t usually talk much, but now he had suggested they’d risk _some_ trouble. That it’d be worth it, just to find a better base camp for a while. Rick didn’t know who had been more surprised -- Shane or the rest of the group -- when Rick had not rejected Shane’s idea on principle alone but instead had replied politely that he’d consider it.

And he’d have to. They couldn’t go on like this for much longer.

But then, a tiny Christmas miracle happened. They’d planned a route but took a wrong turn somewhere and ended up in the middle of absolutely nowhere. There was a small log cabin which looked completely untouched. They’d never forgotten the lesson they’d learned with Jimmy, though, so they played it safe. But the cabin was empty and tidy and well-equipped with cans of milk powder and beans and fruit and what not. 

And there was a small generator. Not a lot of fuel -- Rick imagined that whoever owned this place, had thought ‘oh well, I’ll bring more next time’, only the ‘next time’ got cancelled on account of the end of the world -- but they could have heat for a few precious days and cook food on a real stove. The stove in the RV had stopped working long ago, so to be able to use an actual indoor stove was a rare treat.

The cabin only had the one room with a kitchenette so it was comfy and warm in no time. There was a well with an electric pump; however, the owner had been nobody’s fool and had installed a back-up hand pump as well, so they didn’t have to use the tiny amount of fuel to get water. The outhouse was a sturdy little thing, well-built and neat like the cabin. There were two doors in the building. T-Dog opened the other one.

“Hey guys, look at this!”

It was a bathroom, for lack of a better word. A tidy concrete floor with a drain, a few pegs on the wall for towels and bathrobes, half a dozen empty plastic buckets, and a metal water tank with a fire chamber at the bottom.

The group stared at it in silence.

Daryl broke the silence. “We can heat water in there. Gotta say, wouldn’t be too bad to be clean for a change.”

“So even hardened woodsmen have their limits.” Not many would’ve dared to joke around like that with Daryl but Carol just got an amused huff in return.

The tank was small, so it would take a whole day to have everyone get a chance to wash up. They filled the tank and the buckets anyway, and heated up the water, and everyone took turns to wash some clothes. Actual bathing would have to wait until the next day.

It felt too good to be true. Rick tried his best to think positive but it was getting harder and harder with each passing week. Something _always_ came up. He stared out the cabin window to the outhouse where a thin trail of smoke was coming from the chimney. Andrea and Patricia walked down the short path carrying a few items of clothing. Maggie and Glenn strolled back to the cabin, bringing the wet clothes inside to dry. Their faces were relaxed as they chatted with each other. 

Rick startled when Hershel touched his arm.

“You’re worried.”

“Don’t know how to be anything else anymore.”

Hershel was silent for a moment.

“‘Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.’”

“Bible?”

“Yes, from the Gospel of Matthew.” Hershel turned to face Rick. “You might not put much stock in the Bible but there is wisdom in those words. You’re wearing yourself out, worrying all the time. You need to let us shoulder some of the weight. Me, Daryl, Glenn and Carol. That’s why you have the committee. Right now, we are safe here. We’re warm, we have food, we even have a bathroom! Right now, this is good. Try to remember your own words in that first cottage. Let’s try to rest, make ourselves comfortable, even if it only lasts a few days. Please, let yourself have some rest. You’re doing a good job, but you’re no use to any of us if _you_ break _yourself_. The world’s trying to do that to us hard enough as it is.”

Rick gave him a small smile. The old man could well be a preacher, and wouldn’t be half bad at it either.

And he was right. Of course he was right. 

Rick sighed. “I’ll try. Thank you, Hershel.”

***

The next day, Rick found himself taking a stroll in the woods. It was a cool, sunny day, and he let himself feel better in the clean clothes, with clean skin and hair. _Right now, this is good._

He found a small mound with a simple bench: just a thick log propped on two rocks. Maybe the owner used to sit here, looking over the clearing not far ahead. Rick sat down. It was cold but what the hell, right?

Not a minute later, Daryl shimmered by his side and quirked an amused eyebrow. “Ya gonna start this again? Hide-an’-seek in the woods?”

Rick smiled and pat on the log. “Just testing your vigilance. Well done, you deserve to have a seat.”

Their silence was comfortable. They sat side by side, shoulders and thighs touching. Daryl lit a cigarette -- everyone brought them to him whenever they found a pack. Rick watched him inhale, exhale, and felt some of his own stress evaporate along with the smoke. 

Daryl’s hair had grown. The bangs reached his eyebrows and now that the hair was longer, Rick could see the beginnings of waves in it. 

For once, they were in no hurry, there was this glorious chance to do _nothing_ except rest his gaze on his partner. A giddy, smitten thought flitted in Rick’s mind: _I like his face so much_.

He was struck by a pleasant déjà vu. The peace, the log, the silly getting-lost-in-Daryl’s-profile.

Maybe Daryl would finally tell him.

“What did the vision-Merle say to you?”

Daryl snorted, startled out of his own reverie.

“Ya still harpin’ on that? What makes ya think I’m drunk enough now?” he joked.

Rick’s smile grew into a grin. “D’you really have to be anymore?” 

Daryl glanced at him, eyes narrowed in smile. “Nah, I guess not.” He took a drag. “Ok then. Like I said, we don’t all have nice homes. Lovin’ dads and supportive brothers. Merle… he was more the tough love kinda bro.” Daryl’s chuckle was mirthless. “Always whippin’ me up, remindin’ me that Dixons were worth nothin’ to others so we couldn’t rely on anyone but the two of us. Trust an’ friendship… he didn’t much believe in those. Not that he had much reason to, either, so I guess he did the best he could.”

He stubbed the cigarette and lit another. “So I had forty years of Merle in my head. An’ I wasn’t in the best condition, what with the bolt and the head wound. The things it said… y’know, I had just started to, maybe, trust you a little. Just a little. Let my guard down. But that day, everything Merle had ever taught me, it just poured out. It accused me of trustin’ ya. Of tryin’ to find Sophia so hard. Of...of wantin’ to be a part of the group. Reminded me that I’m worth nothin’ to ya, an’ you’d just ditch me the first moment I wouldn’t be useful to ya anymore. An’ then the...insinuations. About you.” 

Daryl puffed smoke through his nose. Rick waited, didn’t want to interrupt the flow of words.

“I didn’t get it then, I’s too messed up. But later, in the house, Hershel pretty much keepin’ a gun to my head so I’d rest… I ain’t stupid, just took me a while to sort it out… that I didn’t just _trust_ ya, I’s kinda crushin’ on ya as well.” Daryl gave Rick a lopsided smile. “Wasn’t gonna do nothin’ about it. You a married man an’ all. I thought I’d just make myself useful to ya. Make sure you’re alright. I saw what was happenin’ with Shane, didn’t take a genius to see that…”

“Merle never came back?”

Daryl snorted hard. “Sure he did. Told me I’s ridiculous. Laughin’ stock. That no matter what, you guys would never think well of me.” He paused. “Like an angel and a devil on my shoulders, y’know. One tellin’ me I’m a ditchable bitch, the other frownin’ and orderin’ me to stop feelin’ sorry for myself and start _seein’_ how I’m treated by you and Carol and Glenn an’ the others.”

“The devil’s gone now?”

Daryl shook his head. “Hell no. I’ve just got a li’l better at not listenin’ to it.”

The hunter flicked the stub away. “Happy now? The mystery of the phantom Merle solved?”

“Absolutely.” 

The sun found its way to them. Rick lost his train of thought for a second as he watched the rays shine gold and copper on Daryl’s dark, messy hair. Rick _needed_ to touch him, so he removed his gloves and threaded his fingers slowly through the strands, brushed aside the bangs, pushed one long lock behind the man’s ear. Daryl’s eyes were on the clearing, but there was a hint of a smile on his face.

Rick inched even closer. Now Daryl turned to look at him, and Rick very deliberately let his gaze map the man’s face and linger on his mouth. As flirting went, it was blatant and ridiculously clumsy, but it worked. 

Cold lips, warm mouths. _This is good._

***eleven weeks after the farm***

The air in the small cottage was almost too warm with a dozen people constantly crammed into it. Daryl slunk out. He needed a minute to himself. He felt Rick’s gaze in his back and heard his affectionate question, _“Need company?”_

_“Not this time,"_ he answered. He knew Rick wouldn’t mind. It had become almost like a coded message, indicating that Daryl just needed a little time to himself. His ‘alone time’, like Rick called it.

He trudged behind the corner, and narrowly missed being seen by Lori and T-Dog who were also getting some fresh air, walking in the yard and chatting with low voices. He dug a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. He leaned on the wall and let his mind drift.

Lori came to talk with Rick and him sometimes -- Lori with her worried eyes and slowly swelling waistline. At first, Daryl had left without being asked to. Then once, he stayed, just to see if Lori wanted him to leave. But she said nothing. In fact, she gave him a small smile, like a peace offering. She rarely asked his opinion during those talks; he rarely offered any. But she included him in the discussion with her eyes, and sometimes when Rick asked him something, Lori would look at him and really _listen_ , and there’d be no lie or ice in that gaze. He didn’t mind that Rick often held Lori when they talked. He could see it so clearly: it was the same thing as he and Carol. These past months, Daryl had received a crash course on the value of kind touch. Maybe he wasn’t quick to get used to it himself, but he watched, he observed, and he understood it.

Other things he noticed as well, watching under his lashes, cataloguing the expressions, the mood shifts, analyzing, processing -- like a wary dog would sniff the scents and prick its ears entering a dark, unfamiliar building.

He hadn’t known he was good at that. How was he supposed to have known? This was how he’d grown up, and he’d thought everyone knew this stuff. Turned out, they didn’t. Carol had spoken about it once. That people who grew up in fucked-up families learnt to be observant. Their well-being depended on it. In Daryl’s case, his life, more often than not. Merle wasn’t always there to step between him and their dear ol’ daddy. Merle believed in tough love, their dad just believed in being tough. Love never came into it.

But enough about the past. Dead an’ gone. 

Back at the log cabin, the fuel had ran out after four days. They had stayed another two, used the big fireplace which was always a risk, and finally Rick had ordered them to leave. Their luck hadn’t run out, though, they’d kept finding decent place after another -- nothing permanent but always good for a day or two -- and the stress levels had gone down. 

Daryl had known most of these people for months now. Everybody had changed. Some -- like Carol -- were almost unrecognizable. Even Patricia had come to him one day and asked if there was some weapon she could learn to fight with. She’d said she could do the math. They were only thirteen, they couldn’t afford one helpless grown-up woman. If Beth could fight -- if Hershel could fight -- then it was damn sure she’d want to fight as well, she’d said, straightening her shoulders.

So yeah, changes all around.

There were relationships, too. Like Maggie and Glenn, or him and Rick. Unexpected friendships, like Andrea and Patricia. Maybe even him and Carol would fall under that category. 

And Daryl didn’t quite know what to think of certain developments, one of which he was currently observing as he was smoking, out in the cold winter morning, ankle-deep in snow, standing just behind the corner of their current dwelling. More of the white stuff was falling softly from the gray sky, and Daryl’s eyes were on the couple that was strolling among the snow-covered berry bushes. 

Daryl wasn’t one to speculate on romances -- or, to be strictly honest, he would never _admit_ to speculating on romances ( _this ain’t ‘Clueless’, goddamnit!)_ \-- but if he did, he’d gotta say he always thought Lori and Shane would become an item in the end. That wasn’t happening, though. Maybe _nothing_ was happening, and Daryl’s sharp eyes weren’t so sharp after all, but… this wasn’t the first time he’d seen these two together. Nothing major, just comfortable smiles and easy chatting and locked gazes, more and more of it every week.

So, Lori and T-Dog? He wouldn’t have guessed that one. Kinda sweet.

 _Oh, Daryleena, ya breakin’ ol’ Merle’s heart!_ Merle’s shadowy voice returned, but this time it was less mocking and more teasing. Daryl smiled to himself and lit another cigarette -- might as well, he was freezing his ass out here anyway. The ghost of Merle’s legacy was being housetrained in his head, slowly but steadily. Sometimes one step forward, two steps back. It was a work in progress.

Just to flip his inner Merle off, Daryl turned his thoughts to Andrea and Shane. Those two might actually work, in a weird way. Andrea might be good for Shane. Shane, on the other hand… Daryl wasn’t sure the man was good for _anyone_. He’d never forgive Shane, he’d never trust him. Shane had been two seconds away from murdering Rick, and Daryl would _never_ let that slide. The urge seemed to be gone now from Shane, but maybe the madness would return -- and Daryl would be ready.

However. Shane was behaving. Was being useful. Was kind to Carl, practical in fights, hardworking in camps. And kept his mouth shut these days about him and Rick. Not that Daryl gave a fuck about the slurs the man had thrown at them -- compared to the stuff Merle used to spew out, Shane was woefully uninventive and repetitive. But he’d hated that Rick had had to listen to that stuff, coming from his old friend. So it was easier now. And he was kinda glad with the way it had ended -- not because of something Rick or him had done, but because the group, Lori especially, had made Shane stop. Having Shane finally shut up with the added bonus of realizing how much the group had their backs… Not bad.

Someone opened the front door. Glenn and Rick came out, walked towards the woodshed. Daryl’s eyes followed Rick. His eyes seemed to do that a lot. There wasn’t much privacy, they always seemed to find the small houses these days, so _touching_ was a luxury they hadn’t had since, god, was it the first house after the cabin by the lake? But he could _look_ , he could touch the man with his eyes. Sometimes they had a few moments to themselves and they talked, and kissed, and Daryl tangled his fingers in Rick’s dark curls, and Rick nuzzled his neck and warmed his cold nose against Daryl’s skin.

He still hesitated touching others. It was easier with some, like Carol or Carl, and harder with some others, like Patricia who he didn’t know so well, or Shane, who he simply mistrusted too much. The group was teaching him, though, it was fucking _odd_ how tactile everyone was. Bumping shoulders, touching arms, clapping on the back, hugging after a successful fight or a particularly generous scavenging. The others didn’t even seem to register the touches, it was just something they _did._ Daryl had some getting used to it. That a clap on the shoulder was just a friendly pat, not a challenge meant for testing how hard a pat you could take, like most times with his old gang. It had taken him weeks to wrap his head around the idea: these touches were the _norm_ , this is how normal people usually interacted.

But with Rick… it had taken hardly any time at all.

Daryl had had no idea that a loving touch was even a thing. Yeah, he’d had a few flings. No, not even flings. More like times when either curiosity or pure physical frustration had got the better of him. Kind of utilitarian intimacy. Like that time when he was seventeen, when he’d _had_ to make sure that what he thought he wanted actually was what he wanted. Or that time when he was near thirty, had been in Atlanta by himself for some reason, and seen a gay couple kissing on a street corner, openly and in love, and the ache and the frustrated longing had made him take a rare risk that night, and he’d hit on a guy in a bar.

There’d been no loving touches involved. He didn’t regret those times, though, they’d been...necessary. Served their purpose.

But with Rick… _Necessary_ took on a whole new meaning. It had come as a surprise to Daryl how easy it was to get used to touching Rick, to get used to being touched by him, to start _needing_ those touches. It was as if a dam had broken in Daryl, and all the accumulated touch energy flooded out now that it finally, _finally_ had someplace to go. 

For Rick, it probably wasn’t such a big deal. He was normal like that. But it made Daryl’s head spin. That someone actually welcomed his clumsy attempts at tenderness, and whimpered under his more intimate caresses. And never hurt him. Respected his boundaries without a sneer or a question. Touched him back with gentle hands, with lustful fingers, with lips that seemed to enjoy his taste.

Not much privacy, no. And Daryl wasn’t comfortable with public kisses. He’d sensed that Rick wouldn’t’ve minded, had _heard_ him ask a few times, in fact, if it was ok to kiss him goodnight or good morning in front of the others, just like that, just like Maggie and Glenn, like nothing out of the ordinary.

It wasn’t like Daryl didn’t _want_ to. He just didn’t know _how_. How to stop being so self-conscious? How to stop being afraid that the group would suddenly act like his gang had when they’d witnessed men holding hands or, *gasp, the horror*, kissing? The taunts, the ridicule, even violence if the guys had been drunk enough to really let their vicious nature out. 

These people wouldn’t. Rationally, Daryl knew it. On a primitive level, however, he’d been conditioned pretty goddamn thoroughly. But he didn’t want to let his past win this fight. Rick would like to be more open with his affection, so there’s that.

Truth? Daryl would _love_ to be able to wrap his arms around Rick, thread his fingers in his lover’s hair, or give him a kiss, never mind who’d see it. What would anyone do, really? The likes of Glenn or Maggie, Beth or Carol -- did Daryl honestly imagine they’d wrinkle their noses at him and Rick? Even Hershel wouldn’t do that. Good Lord, it’s not like they’d put on a show or anything! Just...act like a regular couple, y’know. 

And would the leap even be so huge as he was making it out in his mind? Every night, they slept side by side, keeping each other warm. No, it wasn’t romantic as such, everyone slept close to someone else for warmth, and Carl always snuggled up on the other side of Rick. But, y’know, would it really be such a huge step to turn his head just that extra inch and press a kiss on Rick’s lips? 

So maybe… it’d be worth it to suck it up and _learn_ this thing.


	16. (Dis)integration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the Wednesday portion of the fic <3

***fourteen weeks after the farm***

_I can’t see…_

_My eyes..._

_Who’s shouting…?_

_Did I die..?_

_Did we die?_

“RICK!” 

The shout reverberated everywhere, filled the air, rapped against Rick’s skin, and every soundwave _hurt_ , and he would’ve wanted to say shut up, shut up-

“RICK!!! Wake up!!”

_What? I know that voice…_

_“Daryl…?”_

There was a relieved sob, and suddenly everything rushed back, and nothing scared him more than to hear the fearless hunter cry. Rick’s head hurt -- now his heart hurt as well. What the fuck had happ-

Oh.

Yes.

The ambush.

***

Of course, they’d met other survivors before. Some had been polite but aloof -- just as suspicious and wary as Rick’s own people. The requests to pass along and not come nearer had been wrapped up in respectful but firm words, with unwavering rifles conspicuously in plain sight. Some had shot first, shouted later -- hadn’t tried to hit anyone but Rick’s group hadn’t risked further negotiations. People wanted to defend what was theirs -- he could respect that. Just because _he_ knew his group were good people didn’t mean others did or were ready to risk it.

There had been the occasional lone drifter trying to talk their way into their group. One they’d even let join them. They wouldn’t be making that mistake again in a hurry; there had been some unpleasant business two nights later when the man had flipped and tried to force himself on Carol. Well, no sane person messed with Carol and got away with it. Rick still shuddered when he remembered Carol’s cold eyes and Daryl’s absolute rage.

The world was bad enough place as it was, and Carol and Daryl made sure it wasn’t made worse by letting people like that inhabit it any longer. Rick could’ve stopped them, reminded them that they weren’t supposed to take the role of executioners, but he wasn’t the same man he’d been on the farm. He’d taken one look at the bruises on Carol’s arms and the rips on her shirt, and felt his insides turn so, so cold. 

No. No-one did that to one of his people. No-one did something like that to anyone and lived, period. He’d given a quick nod to Daryl, and they’d taken the man away. Hershel had almost opened his mouth but hadn’t. He’d looked around at the flinty eyes of the group, and seen the death sentence in all of them.

Stealing food, stealing stuff to survive -- that was something Rick would be angry about but still understand why. But this world left so very little to a person, it ripped and tore and took _everything_ you had _…_ the only thing left to you was your body and your soul, and _no-one_ took those away from his people and lived. 

He’d changed. The hot, swirling monster under his skin now raised its voice too often. The black _thing_ in his soul was fueled by fear and frustration and Rick’s powerlessness in the face of their neverending troubles. His people were hurting, the constant running was wearing them out; the disappointments, the cold, the hunger, the uncertainty ate them up. The monster wanted out, off the leash, on the rampage, and Rick watched it gnaw on its tethers, and was scared of the moment he would just _snap_.

He didn’t know how he would’ve managed to not fall straight to the dark side if not for Daryl. The man had been unusually tactile as of late, seemingly not minding one bit if someone saw them hold hands, hug, kiss, hold each other. He drew strength from Daryl, from the trust and affection between them. Maybe Rick’s mind was leaking his muddled thoughts -- Daryl seemed to be there every time the strain got too great, and put a hand around his shoulders, or brushed Rick’s cold cheek with chapped lips. Or maybe nothing was leaking, maybe Daryl just sensed it. He was skillful that way. 

Until now, they hadn’t met with outright violence, faced a direct assault, and being lulled into false security had been their downfall. Too many months had passed since the altercation in the town -- since Randall -- and they’d grown lax, apparently. Two whole weeks with practically no food and -- because of the exceptionally cold weather and no decent shelter -- no sleep either, well, that had just made it worse.

Rick didn’t want to open his eyes. He was the leader. This was his fault. But what if he just stayed there, lying in the snow? What if he just let go? Let all the worry and fear stop for good? Just...not wake up, ever? Something wasn’t right in his body, he felt it. He heard it in Daryl’s scared voice. He heard other voices too, crying, angry, worried. Nothing good was waiting for him there.

No.

Wait. 

Yes there was. There was Daryl, and Carl. And Lori and the baby and Maggie and Hershel and, and, and… still people to live for, 

_so get a fuckin’ grip, Grimes,_

_feel sorry for yourself on your own fuckin’ time,_

_open your eyes,_

_stop bein’ a fuckin’ coward,_

_people need you,_

_wake up_ ** _wake up_** **_WAKE UP_** _!!!_

Rick blinked. Tried to focus his eyes. 

“Oh thank FUCK!” 

“Rick, you with us?” asked another worried voice. Carol?

“Mmmhm…” His vision was clearing up fast now. Daryl loomed over him, lips a hard line, and a tear still making its way down his cheek. Rick tried to move his hand. _Ok, so that works. Good._ He touched Daryl’s face, wiped the tear away with his thumb, and felt the man lean against his touch for a second.

“What’s happened? Carl..?” he croaked, and a violent shudder ran through him. He registered the surroundings: he was lying on the snow, and there was Daryl, kneeling by him, and Carol was doing something painful to his leg. He tried to get up to see what she was doing.

“Carl’s fine, and you stop right there,” snapped Carol. “I gotta stop the bleeding first. You’re lucky it wasn’t a few inches up, or you wouldn’t have a kneecap anymore.”

Rick frowned. “I was shot in the leg?” He raised his eyes to Daryl. “Then why’re you looking at me like that? I ain’t gonna die over a leg wound.”

“That ain’t what I’m worried about. Actually, I’m damn grateful to that wound. One of them thugs tried to cleave your head open with an axe. Would’ve done that too, if you hadn’t taken the shot in your leg that same second. Instead of bashin’ your head like a melon he just knocked ya out. Didn’t look good, all the same, from where I’s standin’. Scared the fuck outta me, Rick. Didn’t I tell ya not to do that anymore?”

Carol’s worried voice. “Ok, the bleeding’s been taken care of. But we gotta get you up from the ground, you’ll freeze. You shouldn’t be moving though, you’ve got a concussion for sure, but I don’t see any choice.”

Rick touched the side of his head gingerly and grimaced. His fingers came back bloody. 

“Let me see your eyes,” Carol commanded and kneeled by his head. “Look at me.”

She had a flashlight and she flicked the light directly to his eyes. “Alright, your pupils react just fine. Same size too. That’s as far as my medical knowledge goes on this. Daryl, get him up. I’ve got to go see the others...” Her voice trailed off as if in pain. Rick needed to get up, he had to see what had happened to his people while he’d been unconscious.

Daryl eased him up slowly and Rick fought against pain and dizziness. He glanced down at the body of a man with a nasty-looking axe still in his hand. A bolt was sticking out of his temple.

“I’s a second too late,” the hunter said in a low voice, the apology and regret radiating from him.

“The way I see it, you were just in time to stop him from taking another swing at my head.”

Rick finally got all the way up. Daryl held him tightly, his arm around Rick’s waist, and Rick’s hand was on his partner’s shoulder, gripping it like a lifeline. He didn’t want to look around him, he was scared of what there was to see...but he didn’t get to escape from this.

Rick’s eyes took in the scene. One, two...at least seven bodies he didn’t recognize. Andrea kneeling beside someone, shoulders shaking.

“Who…?”

“Patricia. Got a bullet clean through her head.”

Oh no...Rick swallowed, there was a lump in his throat. Patricia may not have been the most prominent member of their group, but she’d been valuable nonetheless. Always there in the background, kind and practical, keeping the wheels turning on their day-to-day routines. She’d been practicing with Daryl and a short blade machete the past few weeks, clumsy but determined. Hadn’t helped her in the end, not against the armed living. Poor Andrea, too… those two had become close friends despite the differences in age and education. 

Rick’s gaze continued the scanning. There was a small group of people kneeling by a figure sprawled on the ground. Hershel, Glenn, Beth… Rick’s gut twisted, he wanted to throw up. No, no, not…

“...Maggie?”

Daryl nodded, then shook his head.

“Maggie, yeah, but I don’t think she’s dead. Not yet at least,” he continued with a grim voice.

“The others?” Rick asked.

“Mostly ok as far as I know. Shane got scraped by a bullet and Andrea’ll probably have a real shiner by tomorrow but yeah, we’re good.”

Rick waited in silence. They limped slowly along the road closer to the others. His head hurt, his leg was useless, and he had no energy to waste on obvious comments.

“Ok, we’re not,” Daryl conceded. “We’re pretty screwed. Two of the guys escaped -- they’ll be probably back with reinforcements. An’ I’m guessin’ walkers will be here any time now, what with all that shootin’ an’ shoutin’. An’ that’s not even the worst.” He drew breath. “We lost the RV.”

“What?” Rick snapped his head towards the RV _(big mistake! no snapping heads in the near future!)_. The large vehicle was standing there peacefully like a languid bovine and didn’t look at all lost.

“Ya can’t see it from this angle, but it took at least four bullets direct in the engine. Nothing we can do about it."

Rick stopped hopping along so Daryl stopped as well. His second-in-command’s eyes were firm, but the man was worried and on edge, Rick felt it in the way Daryl couldn’t stay still, shifting weight from one foot to the other, muscles flexing and relaxing. This wasn’t just Rick’s group, it was Daryl’s as well. Just a few months since the puzzled ‘whatcha need me _for?'_ , and now it wasn’t a question of them needing Daryl -- Rick knew that Daryl needed them too. And ‘for’? Simply because. Because they were _his_ now. His pack. So close to a family that the word might as well be redefined in a dictionary by listing the members of this group.

Daryl didn’t need to tell this to Rick. Rick saw it in everything the man did, how he watched over them, busted his ass for them, even gave in to the benevolent peer pressure and learned to accept friendly words and touches, and sometimes even initiate them.

Rick felt shame prickle on his skin. He’d almost given up.

He’d have to deal with that later. Think it through. But now he’d have to make up for his moment of utter weakness and figure a way out of this mess.

“Did you see which way the guys went?” he asked.

Daryl nodded. “The direction we were goin’.”

Rick thought for a moment. The pounding headache wasn’t helping much.

“Okay. About five miles before the tire blew, there was a side road. Get everyone to work, give them ten minutes, max, to save as much stuff as possible from the RV and pack it to the cars. Drugs, weapons, warm clothes are the priority, there’s not much space left when we only have the two cars.” Rick’s eyes drifted over to Maggie’s figure, still too motionless for his peace of mind. “And Maggie needs enough room.”

Daryl nodded again, didn’t waste time on coddling questions on how Rick thought he’d manage alone with his damaged leg. Carl was running towards them now. Daryl met him halfway, said a few words to him, and strode on to get the group moving. 

Carl walked to Rick. “Daryl said I have to be your crutch.” He put on a valiant smile but Rick saw the tear-smudged cheeks. He also saw a cut on his jaw, slowly dripping blood. Carl noticed his stare and saw the frown.

“This? It’s nothing.” Rick raised his eyebrows and Carl hurried on. “It’s nothing, dad. One of the men tried to hit me but mom pulled me away and Carol finished the guy. I just fell and scratched myself.” The boy was abashed. “Not heroic at all.”

Rick tried not to lean too hard on his son but Daryl had been right, he needed the help. He squeezed Carl’s shoulder. “You have plenty of years ahead of you to be heroic. Is your mom alright?”

“Yeah, she’s in the RV, cleaning Shane’s wound.” They shuffled on, watching Daryl assign tasks. They saw Andrea rise up slowly. 

“Patricia’s dead,” Carl said quietly.

“I know.”

“Maggie...she got two bullets in her, and…”

Rick heard tears in Carl’s voice, heard him swallow to keep the sadness in check.

“But she’s not dead yet, is she?” he said, trying to sound upbeat about it. “She’s tough as nails, and Hershel will move heaven and earth to get her through this. He’s a pretty good doctor.”

“He’s a vet, dad…”

“What, you’re sayin’ humans aren’t animals all of a sudden? When did that happen and why didn’t anyone tell me we’ve all changed into plants!” 

Carl gave a small snort. _Mission accomplished_ , Rick thought.

“He’s already saved my son’s life. Ain’t no reason he can’t do the same for his own daughter.”

Carl looked at him from under his hat, eyes much too shrewd for a boy his age.

“You don’t have to do that, dad. Don’t you think I don’t know the difference? He saved me at the farm, it was warm and clean and Shane an’ Otis fetched that machine. Maggie…” his voice drifted off and he looked at the young woman still lying there with her father on her side; Glenn and Beth had reluctantly left to follow Daryl’s orders.

Carl swallowed again. “...It’s different with Maggie.”

Rick’s heart ached for Carl. The Greene girls had become important to his son. First of all, the boy had a giant crush on Beth, and she was very nice about it, and it was all very sweet, and Rick was kinda glad that the boy got to experience his first true crush even though the world had crumbled around them. Very sweet and innocent and hopeless, Carl being so young and Beth older than him. 

When he’d said as much to Daryl one day, the man had grunted and pointed out that Beth was only four, five years older, and Carl wasn’t gonna be thirteen for the rest of his life, and did Rick really think four years was a deal-breaker ‘cause if so, he might wanna rethink the thing the two of them had going. The ground had sort of wobbled under Rick’s feet when he’d realized… and then Daryl had smirked and said, “Yeah, ya better start preparin’ The Talk. A real heart to heart between father and son.” Rick had shaken his head in despair and said he didn’t want to think about it, he still had a few years, right…?

And then there was Maggie, and Rick knew Carl thought of her like a big sister, and that’s how Maggie acted towards him. Teased him, bossed him around, joked with him, played silly games with him and Beth and Glenn whenever they were lucky enough to find a decent house for more than a day at a time.

“Come on, let’s go to her. We can’t help with the packing anyhow.” Rick nudged Carl to Maggie’s direction.

Hershel was kneeling over Maggie. He turned to look at them, face ashen with worry.

“How is she?” Rick asked. Maggie’s face was covered in blood, and the bandage wrapped around her head was turning red slowly but steadily. His eyes darted to Maggie’s thigh where a bandage was wound tight with what seemed to be Beth’s wool scarf and Glenn’s small hatchet. Blood had colored the snow and drenched Maggie’s jeans.

“She’s alive, for now.” Hershel’s voice was thick with unshed tears.

“What…?”

“She got grazed in the head. A lot of blood but that’s not the-” Hershel swallowed. “-she, she’s not conscious yet. And the leg… the bullet went through but it took us a while to get to her and she’s lost a lot of blood. I don’t...don’t know how-”

Daryl came running and interrupted him.

“We don’t got time,” he panted, and pointed towards the other side of the road. Rick remembered his head and turned slow like a frickin’ snail, and saw over a dozen walkers approaching. Not a huge problem in the normal circumstances but now they were down to half a dozen fighters, and the situation with Maggie gave them no time to waste on walkers.

“The cars?”

“All packed. We gotta get ya in so _go_. Carl, help your dad. An’ Hershel, we gotta carry Maggie.”

Hershel looked lost for a second, then gathered his daughter in his arms and got up with Daryl’s help. The hunter helped support Maggie’s head and they did the best they could to keep the walk as smooth as possible as they carried her to the SUV and settled her in the back seat, the rest of them crammed into the Hyundai and the other seats in the SUV. Rick and Carl were the last to get in, and Rick knew he’d walked too fast, as he felt warm blood trickle down his cold skin. He wanted to throw up which was not a good sign. Even so, he didn’t want to complain -- Maggie had sure got the shorter end of the stick with the wounds. 

As they turned the cars around and left towards the faint hope of a safe place on that side road, all he could do was to pray for good luck. Not that he had any faith left that anyone was listening. Rick sighed, leaned back on the car seat and closed his eyes, _just for a minute,_ he told himself. Visions flashed behind his eyelids, and the fight came back to him.

***

Good luck had been in short supply for the past few weeks. It was like their luck came and went in waves, only this time the good luck wave hadn’t been around for a while and they’d been stuck in a stagnant pool of bad luck. They’d been forced to move every night, and it was freezing cold all the time. The supplies were dwindling down, Beth had developed a nasty cough, and Hershel kept casting worried looks at their stash of medication. Lori was over four months now and the pregnancy was starting to show, especially as she otherwise grew thinner and gaunter, like all of them. Too little food, too much running, too much stress and cold, no stability whatsoever.

They’d been heading towards a small town; they’d decided they needed to take the risk. But then, an accident happened -- an accident which at the time had seemed just another one of those small setbacks that had been hitting them lately: the Hyundai got a flat tire in the middle of an open stretch of the road surrounded by fields. Rick was driving it at the time; he pulled over and told the others to just keep on driving, no reason for them all to stand there on an unsheltered spot, the huge RV attracting attention.

Nobody got left alone these days, so Glenn stayed and so did Daryl. Glenn kept watch and the others made quick work of changing the tire. Just as they were getting ready to leave, the sound of multiple gunshots blasted through the silence.

Glenn was just stepping in the car; he straightened up so fast he bumped his head on the door frame.

“Fuck!”

“Shut up,” Daryl hissed, frowning. Then a second burst of shots filled the air. Daryl’s head snapped to the direction they’d been going. “They’re in trouble.”

He jumped on the bike and Rick started the car. They’d be heading blind into whatever problem there was, but they didn’t have time for a recon. Rick watched Daryl advance as fast as he dared -- winter wasn’t the safest time for riding a motorcycle but so far Daryl had preferred the risk to leaving the bike. They’d driven maybe two miles when Daryl raised his hand and slowed down, just before the road took a hard left and dove into woods.

They stopped and Daryl jogged to the car. Rick rolled the window down. 

“They’re round that bend, I think.”

And yes, now that they’d shut the engines, they heard the sounds of scuffle, shouts, more shots. With any luck, no-one had heard them approach over the noise of the fight.

Rick and Daryl locked gazes; then Daryl took off by foot and vanished into the woods. Glenn followed him with his eyes. 

“What’s he doing?”

“Trying to circle around them. We give him five minutes, then we’ll drive in there. They’ll hear us come so that gives Daryl a chance for a surprise.”

“How did you make that plan? You said nothing.” Glenn wasn’t really curious -- he just needed something else to think other than Maggie somewhere there, fighting for her life. Rick guessed as much, and anyway, how was he supposed to explain?

“You wouldn’t believe if I told you. An’ it’s not important anyway. Let’s get ready.”

They waited. After five minutes, they started the car and rolled down the other window, too. Rick accelerated as hard as he dared on the slippery road, and they came at the fight tires sliding, and Rick had a hard time avoiding a crash with the SUV. He glanced quickly at Glenn; the young man supported his hand on the window frame, aimed, shot, face set, jaw clenched. Rick returned his gaze to what was happening around him. He took in their cars, his people milling about, over half a dozen strangers with guns and axes and large knives coming at them. He saw Shane and Andrea back to back, struggling with two scruffy men. He saw Carol hunched behind the SUV, taking measured, calm shots at another two men who seemed to try to get inside the RV. 

The car finally slid to a halt and both men jumped out. Rick hurried to join Carol behind the SUV. The thin woman didn’t even look at him, she simply noted, “Good, you’re here.”

Rick didn’t bother to answer, he crouched and crept to the other end of the car to get a different view, to find Lori, Carl, Beth. He saw Beth right away, frozen, knife still in her hand in a competent grip. She had a rifle aimed at her midriff, and Hershel by her side was already slowly lowering his shotgun. Rick took careful aim, but before he pulled the trigger, the man fell down with a silent bolt buried in his neck. Rick saw Beth blink once, then she and Hershel hurried on to help others.

All of that was over in a few seconds but already Rick felt a sense of pride warm his insides. Long past were the days when these people had been less than a group, just a collection of people. Long past were the weeks of the creaky engine. His people had been ambushed, they were tired, cold and hungry, but they weren’t giving in even an inch, and he saw no panic, no flailing about like the headless chicken he’d once thought they were. He saw determined faces, a team working together.

 _Those guys are screwing with the wrong people_ , he thought, just before he ran into the thick of the fight.

He went to help Andrea who was staggering under a rat-faced stranger; Shane had his hands full with the other guy. Andrea had already got a hefty whack on her face, and the old-fashioned Southern gentleman in Rick screamed, appalled, _who_ **_does_ ** _that!?_ He grabbed the man from behind, squeezed his throat with his arm; Andrea got up and with a vicious snarl sank a knife in the man’s chest and then, for good measure, another stab into his temple.

“You ok?” Rick panted.

“I’m fine.” Andrea’s eyes darted over Rick’s shoulder. “Lori an’ Carl...go! I got Shane.” 

Rick twirled around and saw three men surrounding Lori and Carl. T-Dog was wrestling with a huge stranger, both men with nasty knives trying to pry the weapon from the other one’s hand. Carl dashed in front of her mother in a brave attempt to shield her. Rick didn’t hesitate, he took aim and shot one of the men. 

Then everything happened fast. A man grabbed at Carl; a bullet hit the ground half a foot from Rick; his head snapped to the direction of the shot and he noticed a man taking cover behind a tree and trying to pick them off one by one; he heard another shot and something thump to the ground behind him; in his mind he bellowed, _“Daryl! Get that sniper!”_ ; he saw the rifle turn at him again, heard a stamp of heavy feet behind him, and time slowed down, there was a sharp pain in his leg, his leg gave way beneath him, another sharp pain in his head, and then the ground rushed up to meet him.

***

Carl gave him the missing pieces of the story, the parts Rick didn’t -- or couldn’t -- remember. The boy described how the group had been stopped by a car parked over the road, and when they’d gone out to check it, the men had jumped them and started shooting. The strangers had, it seemed, been of the school of thought that favors ‘shoot first, take later, don’t talk at all’ methodology.

Daryl jogged back to his bike and caught up with them when they were halfway back to the sideroad. Carol was driving and Rick told her where she should turn. Rick had never in his life been so happy to see that it had started snowing again; the more the better, it would hide their tracks.

“Is there a house there?” Carol asked.

“No idea. There’s a road though. Stands to reason there’d be _something_ at the other end of it.”

Carol glanced at him quickly. “Sounds flimsy.”

“If you have a better idea, I’m all ears. We _know_ there was nothing for at least half an hour along the main road, and Maggie doesn’t have that kind of time. We gotta try.”

They drove slowly along the narrow road. It split into other narrow roads and they had no way of knowing which one to choose, so they just chose whatever and hoped for the best. Ten minutes later they emerged from the woods to a large clearing with a tiny, frozen pond. A small house nestled by a surprisingly modern wind turbine which was slowly turning as the snowflakes danced around the cars. 

Snow had piled up in front of the door and there was no sign of life. It frustrated Rick that he couldn’t be there with Daryl and the others to check out the house, but he’d be no use to them now. So he just waited in the car as T-Dog, Glenn and Daryl circled the house, peeked through the windows, rattled the door to attract the attention of any walkers trapped inside.

All they could hear in response was the soft hum of the turbine.

Glenn had spent several fruitful weeks learning how to pick locks, so it didn’t take him long to open the front door. Rick watched the three men vanish inside. It was quiet in the car, almost as if they all were holding their breaths. So much hinged on this place. Maggie’s life, for example. 

A few minutes later, they saw lights turn on in the house, and Rick couldn’t help it: mad hope sparked in his chest. Glenn came out, jogged to the SUV and yanked open the back door.

“Get in the house. Hershel, I’ll carry Maggie. T-Dog’s preparing a place for her so you can do what you gotta do.”

The group got out of the cars and took their bags. Carl helped his father limp inside the house and took him to the sofa. 

“Lie down,” the boy ordered, and Rick felt too dizzy, too in pain, to defy the command. He wanted to close his eyes but thought it might not be the wisest move in his condition. He forced his gaze to focus on the group. Carl sat on the sofa by his side, watching him carefully. Glenn and Hershel carried Maggie inside and settled her on the dining table where T-Dog had spread a few sheets and stacked a few towels. Others were getting their things from the cars. Suddenly Daryl was there, crouching by his side.

“I got ya here alive. Don’t ya go die on me now, d’ya hear? Keep your eyes open, you idiot, enjoy the headache. Teaches ya to look around ya next time. Good thing ya got a thick skull.”

Daryl’s low voice was grouchy, but his touch on Rick’s face was gentle.

 _“Ya scared the shit outta me.”_ The man didn’t bother hiding his worry when no-one else could hear him.

_“I know. I’m sorry.”_

Daryl leaned over to kiss him lightly on the lips. Then he rose and turned to Carl.

“You go check the bedrooms and get a few blankets for your dad. I think we got the heat on, but it’ll take a while to get warm in here. You gotta keep your dad warm. Ya think ya can manage that, kid?”

Carl nodded and left immediately. Daryl returned his gaze back to Rick.

“I gotta go help. Secure this place.”

Rick wanted to nod but he’d learned his lesson. “Ok,” he said instead.

“Ya keep still. Don’t move. I’ll ask Carol to check on your leg,” he glanced at Hershel, Carol and Beth, busy at Maggie’s side, and Glenn, standing close, arms wrapped tight around himself, staring, “but I guess it’ll take some time.”

“I’ll live.” Rick gave a wan smile. “Don’t worry about me, hon.”

Daryl’s head snapped back at Rick so fast it made Rick chuckle. It was only a second later that Rick realized _why_ Daryl had reacted like that. 

Daryl stared at him for a moment, speechless. He blinked. He cleared his throat. And in the middle of the absolute disaster that had been this day, Rick felt like laughing out loud as he watched the most badass man he knew getting struck dumb by a tiny little word.

After another second, Daryl pulled himself together. 

“Well. Yeah.” He smirked. “I always gotta worry about ya, _darlin’_. Ya keep gettin’ yourself in trouble. Good thing I kinda like your ass ‘cause I keep havin’ to save it.”

Rick still had a smile on his face when Carl came back carrying blankets. Carl gave one look at his dad’s face, then glanced at Daryl’s retreating figure.

“He made you smile?”

“Yeah.”

“He does that a lot.”

Rick stopped to think. These past weeks… he didn’t think he’d smiled a whole lot. But Carl was right. The only times the frown had left his face and his facial muscles had relaxed, had been when the hunter had been near, talking with him, keeping watch with him, or kissing him goodnight no matter how bleak a place they’d been holing in. Even Carl didn’t make him smile as often -- Carl was his child, and that equalled constant worry.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“What about you?”

Rick frowned, puzzled. “What about me?”

“Do you make him smile?”

How was he having this conversation with his _son_ , of all people?

“You looking out for Daryl’s best interest, huh?” he asked, amused.

“I like him,” Carl just said.

Rick’s thoughts flickered back a few weeks. The two of them sitting on a log, and he had pushed a lock of Daryl’s hair behind his ear. That small act of tender touch had brought a whiff of a pleased smile on the hunter’s face. A few weeks later, the man had stopped objecting to goodnight kisses, and once he’d got used to those tiny instances of PDA, Rick had seen that faint curve of a smile every time, almost like a reflex, almost as if Daryl couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop being pleased about how their hands brushed against each other, how Rick hugged him when he came back from a hunt, how he himself put his arm around Rick’s shoulder when they sat side by side on a sofa in whatever house they were in at the time.

“I think I make him smile alright. I like him too, y’know,” he said, and winked at his son. Carl smiled, but when he glanced towards the dining table, his smile slipped. He looked back at Rick, drew breath and plastered the smile back on his face.

“You wanna go stand with Glenn?”

“Nuh-uh. Daryl said my job is to look after you, so that’s what I’m gonna do. Besides…” He glanced towards the table again, “I don’t want to think about it. I don’t…” Carl’s smile shattered. Rick reached for him and Carl grabbed his dad’s hand eagerly, in a way that might embarrass him later. But right now, he was a 13-year-old child who was in danger of losing a sister, and he needed his dad.

“I know, Carl. Believe me, I know.” Rick squeezed his hand. “What would you like to talk about?”

***

They had rescued most of the pitiful amount of food they’d had in the RV. The house, however, had a nice stock of basic household foodstuffs. The electricity had been switched off and the fridge had been emptied, and Rick wondered if maybe the owners had been on a long vacation trip when the whole walker thing had stormed over the world. Most of the foodstuff was usable, so they had their first decent meal in over two weeks. The food wouldn’t last for long, obviously; the house only had two bedrooms so it wasn’t equipped for the needs of twelve hungry people. It would last a few days, though, and that was plenty time for making other plans.

The next few days would also show whether Maggie would pull through or not, Hershel told them that evening, looking much older than his years, worn and worried. It hadn’t taken too much time to batch her leg up properly and verify that the bullet had simply grazed her head. It’d been a relatively deep graze which had left a mark on her skull, and the force of the impact would explain the time she’d been unconscious. It could’ve been much worse, so much worse, if it had been just half an inch deeper, so Rick tried to think positive, and he knew Hershel tried too, so hard. Maggie had come to after another half hour, flickering in and out, but slowly staying conscious longer and longer. Glenn looked like he could cry. 

Hershel was more worried about the leg. She’d lost a lot of blood, and ironically enough, her blood type O- was just about perfect for everyone else, but no-one from the group had that particular blood type so they couldn’t help her. The only thing they could do was to protect her wounds from infection, and keep her warm and as well nourished as possible in their circumstances. 

And then they would wait.

  
  



	17. Cohesion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something to read during the weekend :)

The next day Rick felt a whole lot better. The leg still couldn’t take his weight, but the headache had eased up and the dizziness was gone. Daryl grumbled about stupid jackasses who used their clumsy legs for target practice but he fooled nobody, so he gave it up. Instead, he planted Rick a big, loud smack of a kiss, which gave them all something to smile about for a few seconds.

Until they looked at Maggie again, pale and quiet and weak and much too still as she lied on the sofa which Rick had given over to her on the first night. 

The house had comfortable beds for four, but with the blankets they’d managed to cram into the cars, they all had somewhere to sleep. And anyway, the house was warm and they were well fed, so sleeping on a rug really wasn’t a hardship worth mentioning. Two of them were on guard duty at all times; the rest of them took turns sleeping on the nice beds a few hours at a time. Glenn rarely left Maggie’s side and neither did Hershel, and for the first few days the others, by a silent agreement, handled all the guard shifts.

On the third day, Maggie sat up on the sofa and ate without any help. Rick saw T-Dog quietly cross himself, and Beth cried and laughed, and Glenn smiled like never before, and when Daryl came in from his shift just as Maggie was chatting with Lori, the empty plate still on her lap, everybody heard his relieved “Thank fuck!”

Hershel watched his daughter, safely out of the claws of death, and then he walked out of the living room, into a bedroom, crashed on a bed and slept for ten hours straight. 

They lived off the house those three days, and supplies started to dwindle down. That evening, Daryl asked if Rick felt well enough to go out for a little stroll. Rick’s leg still wasn’t working properly, but he was tempted by the idea of fresh air and something else to do except sit around and watch others be useful. Besides, the side-glance Daryl threw at him told Rick the man needed to talk.

They were barely out the door when Daryl blurted out the problem. “Rick, we gotta make a run tomorrow. An’ we’re two fighters short, so I’m not gonna take anyone with me. You need everyone here.” His taut tone revealed he was expecting a fight over this.

Rick stopped. He’d guessed as much. And it wasn’t like Daryl never went anywhere alone. He was the only one of them who did. Because of the hunting, mainly. But a run was different. It meant entering buildings, and that was risky as hell without anyone watching your back. 

But Daryl was right, goddamnit. Maggie couldn’t be moved -- well, she could, of course, but it might well be too much for her. Rick couldn’t really fight yet, not effectively with his limited mobility. They needed the fighters at the house to defend it if need be. 

And even a few days of warmth and sufficient amount of food would make all the difference for Maggie. Rick couldn’t help but think of Lori, too. 

Right now, the food was running out. So Daryl was right. Goddamnit!

“Ok,” he muttered.

Daryl nodded. “I thought ya was gonna be difficult about this.”

“Oh, I’d want to be difficult about this! Absolutely. I hate the idea of you alone out there. But I can’t say you’re not right. We need the food. Drugs, too, if you can find any. Hershel’s starting to look more than worried about that stuff.”

He squeezed Daryl’s shoulder, pulled him close enough to press their foreheads together.

“Just...don’t take too many risks, ok? We can handle a few days with tiny rations, we’ve done it before, we can do it again. What we can’t handle is losing you.” Rick kissed him lightly on the lips. “ _I_ couldn’t handle it. I’m selfish, I wanna keep you with me for decades to come. So don’t do anything stupid out there, ok?”

The hunter huffed. “Me? I can handle myself. I ain’t the one with a bullet hole in my leg an’ an axe imprint on my head.” Daryl deflected the serious tone of Rick’s words with a joke, but the squeeze on Rick’s waist told him Daryl didn’t really mind so much.

The hunter was relaxed now, and they continued their stroll in comfortable silence.

It was snowing again -- slow, lingering flakes. Rick limped alongside Daryl, an arm on his shoulder for support, and looked around: in the wintry twilight it all looked kinda pretty -- the small house covered in snow, light peeking through the curtains, the last memory of the sun coloring everything blue and gray like in a fairytale. He studied Daryl’s face and felt something powerful stir in his gut at the sight of snowflakes on his hair like a frickin’ crown, clinging onto his eyebrows and short beard. He stopped and Daryl did, too, a little baffled.

“What?” the man asked, and brushed away a snowflake that wouldn’t want to part with his eyelashes.

Rick wasn’t ok these days, he knew it. His mind had descended into depths he hadn’t been aware of even having. The apocalypse laid you bare, and separated the wheat from the chaff, and there were too many times Rick wasn’t sure which group he belonged to. 

_All I know is that I’ve never been more right than all those weeks ago, when I told Daryl that I’m stronger with him. I only hope it isn’t a one-way street._

So he asked. 

“Are you stronger with me? Or do I sap your energy? You always look after me…”

If Rick hadn’t been so overwhelmed with all kinds of feelings -- fear of what Daryl would answer, and oceans deep affection for him -- he’d’ve been amused as hell. Never in his life had he seen the hunter so staggered, so at a loss for words. He could hear the cogs screeching in Daryl’s head, braking, accelerating, trying to find a new track.

Finally the man open his mouth.

“Excuse me? What...why would ya _ask_ that?”

“Because it wouldn’t be right. Healthy relationships aren’t about one person being the other one’s support system. Nobody can handle energy drain like that forever. I won’t have it, y’know, if this thing between us goes to hell just because sooner or later you’re too exhausted ‘cause you’re always keeping me together.”

“But...where the fuck is this comin’ from?” Daryl was at a complete loss.

Rick rubbed his temples.

“Dunno, honestly… Just, I don’t...too often I don’t feel alright-” Daryl looked as if he was going to cut in but Rick raised his hand, “-no, hear me out. I mean...It’s just that most of the time I feel like you’re the only thing standing between me and an abyss. The abyss looks so tempting, y’know… just a step and I could let go, stop worrying about morals or anything, just kill my way someplace safe, walk over everything just so my people could have it all. Stop thinking things through, y’know. Sometimes I wonder… if I’d been at this point when the farm fell, I don’t think Shane would be with us anymore. I’d’ve killed him without hesitation on the field, or the first time he opened his mouth about the two of us.” Rick followed the snowflakes with his eyes. Their slow dance centered him, kept him sane as he was talking about his insanity.

“And I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want to _become_ that. Them old world values, you remember? I don’t want to lose them, but my grip is slipping. An’ I don’t know what would happen without you.”

“Ya don’t hafta worry about that,” Daryl said firmly, “I ain’t about to go nowhere.” The cold was nipping at the tip of his nose and the high planes of his cheekbones, but Rick knew all the pink wasn’t from the cold. The hunter still couldn’t handle compliments all that well. A feeling surged inside Rick, and the feeling had a name.

Daryl went on. “I know, Rick. I feel it. We have the thing, remember? Ya don’t always keep your head locked up so well. Ya don’t gotta feel bad, Rick, ya ain’t the only one dealin’ with those thoughts. I bet every one of us has them. Might be Hershel is the only one who has a tight grip on reality -- must be that faith thing of his. But you’re still fightin’ the abyss, aren’t ya? Haven’t given up? An’ that’s all _your_ doin’, it ain’t me. We all battle our monsters alone, that’s just life. So maybe ya lean on me while you’re doin’ that, but are ya so fuckin’ stupid ya haven’t noticed I’m doin’ the same thing? I’ve got layers of crazy inside, remember, forty years of dad an’ Merle just waitin’ to strike first, ask questions later.”

Daryl stared at his feet, still uncomfortable having these kinds of conversations.

“So yeah, I’m stronger with ya. Ya ain’t sappin’ me of anythin’. We’re partners, remember? I’ll make a deal with ya. We keep each other human, ok? An’ you quit worryin’ about us, you an’ me, ok?”

Rick touched Daryl’s chin, wordlessly asked him to meet Rick’s gaze. The hunter looked up.

“D’ya believe me? Or do we hafta have this conversation on a regular basis?” the man asked, masking his discomfort in a dry voice.

Rick gave a small half-smile. “You know me better than that. You _know_ we have to talk about this again. Maybe we can book every second Tuesday for this? Rick and Daryl’s Biweekly Sanity Restoration Retreat?”

Daryl snorted. “Ya think you’re so fuckin’ funny, Grimes.” 

“I _know_ I’m fuckin’ funny, Dixon. You have a lifetime of chuckles ahead of you.”

The feeling just kept on surging inside Rick, creeping everywhere, filling him up, permeating his bloodstream, sinking in his very bones.

“Come here,” he said in a low, happy voice, and tugged Daryl closer by the collar of his jacket. The hunter smiled -- that small curl of his lips which made Rick so very warm inside -- and stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Rick.

“Wanna make out?” Daryl smirked.

Rick pretended to consider.

“Well, I guess I wouldn’t mind.”

Daryl’s warm breath hovered over Rick’s mouth, and the touch of the lips was familiar, the home they carried with them wherever they went. Rick deepened the kiss, flicked his tongue against Daryl’s lips, and felt his body respond to Daryl’s soft moan. Daryl’s hand dove under his jacket, then he grunted, dissatisfied, and pulled his hand back. 

“Wait…” he mumbled in Rick’s mouth, pulled back a little, and deftly opened both their jackets, then drew Rick tight against him, their bodies touching from knee to mouth, and it felt nice to let their hands roam with little less fabric between them and their skins. More than nice. 

“God, I wish we found a bigger place once in a while,” the hunter muttered, fingers grazing Rick’s sides and making sparks fire behind his closed eyelids. Rick’s mouth was buried in Daryl’s neck, he nibbled on the skin and loved how the hunter trembled under his touch.

With regret, he pulled back and waited for his breath to calm down.

“Yeah… a master bedroom would be real nice every now an’ then.” He leaned closer again, kissed Daryl’s cheek and let his mouth skim Daryl’s skin, let the hunter’s facial hair tickle his lips, enjoyed the feel of his lover.

The feeling wanted out. It wanted to be said. And in this world it wasn’t a good idea to wait too long, because you never knew if there was another tomorrow.

“Daryl, I just… I want you to know…”

“Mmhm?” the man breathed as his arms squeezed Rick even tighter.

“I love you.”

Everything stopped for a moment. Rick felt the thump of his heart in his throat, and the hum of the turbine filled his ears. He thought Daryl might already know -- love was more than a feeling, after all, it was in everything they did for each other -- but still, now the words were out there, it wasn’t nebulous anymore, it was crystal clear to Rick how he felt towards this man and he needed Daryl to know it too. 

He said it again. The words felt so right. 

“I love you. You, here, with me, with me and Carl, that’s _everything_ to me. We’re a _family_. An’ I love you.”

Daryl still hadn’t reacted. Rick didn’t think his words were unwelcome but he was starting to worry. He pulled back just enough to be able to look the man in the eye. To his relief, Daryl didn’t avoid his gaze. In the faint light of that winter evening, his eyes were just as blue and gray as the snow-covered nature. Rick wondered if he needed to assure Daryl that he wasn’t expecting a declaration of love back. This wasn’t a trade-off. 

“Rick…” Daryl’s voice rumbled low and thick, full of emotions the reticent hunter seemed to have trouble putting into words. “Rick, I don’t...know what to say…”

Rick waited. That was not a promising start, but something in his hunter’s voice…

“Nobody has ever said that to me. Nobody. An’ I ain’t never said that to nobody. Truth, Rick? I don’t even know for sure what it means...How’m I gonna know when I love someone? How’m I gonna know if it’s somethin’ else than what I feel...for ya?”

“What _do_ you feel?”

Daryl’s gaze darted around. “I ain’t… don’t know…”

“It’s just us here. Nobody else. Don’t talk if it’s easier.”

Daryl’s eyes bore into Rick’s, and a steady stream of thoughts entered his mind.

_“Wanna be with ya...wanna talk with ya...be silent with ya...touch ya...take care of our people with ya… fight on your side… be there for ya...help ya raise Carl if you let me… wanna see what ya look like in ten years’ time, or twenty… Rick, I’d kill for ya...die for ya...live for ya…”_

Rick’s eyes welled with tears and he cupped Daryl’s face in his palms and kissed him long and deep, and sent his own thoughts to the hunter, all his love for him, let their thoughts swirl and mesh together, and told him that _“yes, that’s pretty much what love is.”_


	18. Stability

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something for you guys to start the new week off :)
> 
> Also, you may have noticed I've changed the total nbr of chapters...again (20->21)!!! I desperately try to keep some sort of balance between the chapter lengths (they already range from approx. 2500 to 7700), and 15k was just too much for my sensibilities... and also, there actually was a very good place to split the chapter 19 in two, and I'm truly grateful to my lovely beta for pointing that out for me 'cause it actually makes the whole thing flow better.
> 
> Anyhow, at the moment I'm writing Ch21 which is supposed to be the last one. This means the end is nigh! However, there's still several chapters' worth of (hopefully!) good stuff to read.
> 
> Have fun!!

Over two weeks later, their wave of good luck was still sticking around.

Daryl had gone on that run and checked all the small sideroads they hadn’t chosen the first time. He’d spent the whole day out there, slipping through sparse woods, dodging open fields, circling the houses like a ghost. Taking no unnecessary risks, in fact. Daryl didn’t have the highest opinion of himself but he knew how important he was to the group’s survival. It was just a fact, not an idiotic ego-trip. And he kinda wanted to get back to Rick, and he wouldn’t mind so much if he heard Rick’s _I love you_ again. Rick had repeated the words in the morning when Daryl was leaving, and Daryl wasn’t yet tired of hearing them. Not at all. He hadn’t got the words out yet, not even in his mind, but he knew he would one of these days. And fuck if he was gonna die before he said it to Rick.

Back at the house, Rick tried to keep busy instead of plastering his face to the window, waiting for the familiar figure emerge from the woods. He told himself he was being ridiculous. Daryl had gone out on his own plenty of times during the time he’d known the man. _But not like this_ , his mind provided the unhelpful thought. Not in an area where they knew hostiles were close, and Daryl would have to search buildings, and Rick just hoped the man wouldn’t push his luck too many times.

“He’ll be back,” whispered Carol in his ear, and smiled. “He’s a frickin’ terminator. He’ll always be back.” There was confidence in Carol’s voice. The worry was hidden deep in her eyes, but Rick was grateful for the effort nonetheless.

He felt like confiding in someone.

“I told him I love him.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

“What! What took you so long?”

Rick raised his eyebrows, amused at the peeved tone.

“Wasn’t ready before.”

Carol tilted her head.

“You didn’t know you loved him before yesterday? Can’t be… Everyone else knew it weeks ago.”

Rick chuckled. “I’ve been in love with him for months. It’s not that. It’s more… we don’t…” Rick felt like squirming. “...don’t say a lot…”

Carol snorted. “Oh for heaven’s sake, Rick… Daryl, yes, I can believe he’s not one for love sonnets, but you? You’ve got practice at least. And if anyone deserves to hear they’re loved, it’s Daryl.”

Rick smiled, his gaze turned inwards, his thoughts back to yesterday and Daryl’s words about his feelings, his realization of love, his arms around Rick, and the way the man didn’t seem to want to let go at all.

She snorted again. “You should see yourself. You’re besotted. And I’m all for it. You be good to him, or you’ll have to deal with me.” Her voice was only half playful.

“I’ll do the best I can,” Rick promised, dead serious.

Carol’s eyes twinkled. “So...does he love you?”

Rick hesitated. Daryl was such a private person, it felt wrong to talk about his feelings to anyone, even Carol.

She chuckled. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. And it’s not like I don’t know the answer. Anyway, I think I’ll have a little chat with the man himself when he comes back.” She winked at Rick and left; Glenn had just come in from his shift and beckoned Carol to take his place.

Rick felt a little better after the conversation. His head kept snapping towards the door, however, every single time someone came in. Worry wormed its way to his belly when the sun set and twilight turned to dusk and still there was no sign of the hunter. 

Carl’s eyes were huge as he stared at the door. Carol masked her worry behind a brave, confident face. Rick caught Lori and Glenn looking at him too many times, and their concern only made his deeper.

Then, the hunter strolled in, and Rick didn’t know whether to kiss him senseless or yell his ears off. He settled for nonchalance which would fool no-one, least of all Daryl.

“Back so soon?”

Daryl huffed, lowered his heavy backpack on the floor with a dull thump, took off his jacket and shook the snow from his hair, cool as anything. “Jesus, it’s fuckin’ cold out there.”

He walked to a radiator and stuck his hands on it. “That’s more like it.”

Rick quirked his lips; the man was a fucking tease.

“Come on, Daryl…” Carl begged. “Tell us! How did it go?”

The man turned to face them. He chewed on his lip and locked his eyes with Rick’s.

“Could’ve been worse, I guess. There’s food in the bag.” He shifted his weight and let himself smile a little. “An’ I found us a house. A real good house, even better than this. Don’t know what the fuck was wrong with the people who lived around here but all them houses have wind turbines and loads of food. None of the houses have walkers in them, they’re all empty, so I’m thinkin’ this might’ve been a community of sorts an’ them people’d been together somewhere when everythin’ went down.”

“What does it mean, a better house?” Rick asked. Daryl’s eyes were glued on his, and in his head he heard Daryl’s amused thought -- giddy almost, if you could use that word about Daryl. _“Anythin’ with a master bedroom’s_ **_better_** _, dontcha think?”_

Rick earned a few puzzled looks as he huffed a short laugh.

“It’s a large house, four or five bedrooms, that sorta thing. Turbine looks even more modern than this one. The house has a cellar stuffed to the brim with all sorts of food. An’ with the amount of weapons I saw, those people gotta be some kinda survivalists or somethin’. Whatever, we can use it, right?”

“Is it far?” asked Maggie in a quiet voice.

“A couple of miles. Longer by roads. I don’t like the idea of takin’ the cars, it’ll just leave tracks-”

“We’ll figure out something tomorrow,” Rick said firmly. “It’s late. Let’s just eat something and sleep on this.”

***

They decided to wait a whole day, just to get a little more color back on Maggie’s face. Daryl took another trip to the new house that day and took T-Dog and Carol with him. Late afternoon, they returned, and Carol’s eyes were crinkled with a happy smile.

“It’s a funny house. Not so big as such, ‘cause the rooms aren’t large. But there’s five small bedrooms and a separate TV room, so there’s plenty of space for us. And the larder in the cellar… you have got to see it to believe it.”

This was almost too much good luck. A cold, superstitious finger ran down Rick’s spine.

“How’s the area? Can we defend it?”

Daryl shrugged his shoulder. “‘s not ideal. No better or worse than most of the places we’ve stayed in. The only thing that’s really workin’ in our favor is that it’s not been targeted yet. The sideroad leadin’ here, you know it doesn’t look so great, so probably most people just drive by without a second thought. Hell, _we_ did that the first time. An’ that’s the only road here. ‘m not sayin’ we’ll be safe forever, but…” He shrugged again.

Rick nodded slowly. So, not a permanent home. But a place for a week, maybe two...that’ll have to be enough for now, right?

They still hadn’t made up their minds about the cars when the morning came. Rick limped outside and stared moodily at the pristine snow covering the road. He really didn’t want to split their group, even if it only meant humans in one place, cars in another. But he didn’t know what to do, because it’d be a long time before Maggie’d be in any condition to walk at all, let alone scamper through woods. Carrying her wouldn’t be great for her condition, either.

He had almost decided that the risk of taking the cars was worth it, when a snowflake hit his nose. He looked up at the heavy clouds and the snow that was starting to pour down until he could barely see a few yards ahead. Daryl materialized beside him. 

“Jesus…” the man muttered. 

“Yeah…” Rick didn’t know what to say. “Talk about luck…”

“Don’t say nothin’,” the other man warned. “You’ll just jinx it. Get your stuff, we’ll take the cars right now.” Daryl went back inside and Rick heard him give orders. “The cars will leave in three minutes. Everyone not in a car by that time will walk.” Daryl’s voice softened. “I’m not kiddin’. We have to take advantage of the snow. Glenn, Hershel -- you take Maggie to the SUV. Lori, just get your ass in there, you ain’t walkin’ either. Carol, everything’s packed? Good. Everybody -- help get the stuff to the cars.”

In less than twenty minutes they’d parked the cars and the bike behind their new home. 

***

That first night, it felt odd to have a room just for the two of them. To have actual privacy after months of living like sardines with the group. The house was warm, Daryl had switched on the heating the previous day, and Carol had had the foresight to yank the bedspreads away from the beds so that the sheets and mattresses got some air and warmed up. 

Rick took a quick shower and slipped under the blanket, hardly believing they had this now, even for a short while. Daryl came out after a few minutes, a towel wrapped around his waist, and peeked at him, shy and modest all over again. He swept his damp bangs from his forehead and didn’t quite know what to do after.

Rick pat on the bed and turned the blanket aside. He needed to help Daryl relax and remember how it had been between them more than three months ago.

“Please, just...I need you near me. Everything else can wait if you want.”

Daryl took hesitant steps closer, dropped the towel just before settling on the bed, and pulled the blanket up to his chest. He let out a deep breath and propped himself on his elbow. “It ain’t just about what _I_ want.” He took in the sight of Rick; the leader felt Daryl’s gaze skim his face, his bare chest, all the way down to the hipbone half covered by the blanket. “It’s been a while.” The words were full of longing, tinged with uncertainty and an overdose of self-consciousness.

“Hey…” Rick leaned over and cupped Daryl’s face in his palm and brushed his bristly cheek with his thumb. “I just want to be close to you. Feel your skin. Sleep by your side. Whatever other stuff there is, we can do that tomorrow night, or the next. We’ll be here a while. No need to rush anything.”

Daryl relaxed and lay his head on the pillow. Rick noticed color rise on the hunter’s face. He quirked an eyebrow.

“Dunno why I got like this,” the younger man mumbled. “‘s not like I haven’t thought about this… what I wanna do with ya the second we’d get a chance. Shit, feels like there were weeks I hardly thought about anything else,” he gave a weak smirk, “‘cause it ain’t fun to think about walkers an’ snow an’ food all the time. Rather thought about you, naked, y’know.”

Rick chuckled. “Did not know that. You’re good at keeping your thoughts to yourself.”

The smirk was stronger now. “Yeah, well… we couldn’t do shit so I didn’t want to talk about it.” The crooked smile faded. “Anyhow, just… want ya to know I want this… it’s not…”

Rick put a finger on the man’s lips; he wanted to lighten up the mood, the hunter was too wrapped up in his guilt and apprehension. Rick needed to pull him back to being _them_ , together in this. 

“Shut up, Dixon,” he said fondly. “What _is_ it with you -- talk, talk, talk all the time!” 

Rick saw how Daryl’s eyes narrowed, and then the hunter attacked, buried his fingers in Rick’s side and the leader squealed like a pig. Humiliating, but necessary.

“Stop wigglin’, Officer Friendly,” Daryl ordered, tickling the other man mercilessly. “Ya deserve this.”

A particularly juicy tickle made Rick howl, and he shuddered to think what their next-room neighbors might imagine they were doing. Maggie and Glenn, Andrea and Shane… there would be no mercy tomorrow.

Again: humiliating, but necessary.

“Remember I’m seriously wounded and very advanced in years,” he spluttered.

Daryl squinted at him and eased up on the tickling. “Hmm. Ok. But just ‘cause I forgot them advanced years. I hope ya learned your lesson.”

“Sir, yes sir.” Rick grinned, and wrapped his arms around the man and drew him close. Daryl’s naked body felt so very, very good against his, and the hitch in Daryl’s breath told Rick the other man was affected by the touch as well. But there would be a tomorrow. Tonight, being like this was more important.

Rick buried his nose in Daryl’s neck and breathed in his scent. Soap and cigarettes and that outdoorsy aroma that never seemed to leave the hunter -- the crisp scent of snow and pines. He heard Daryl sigh, and it was a sigh of content, and something wanted out again.

“I love you,” he mouthed against Daryl’s skin, and said it again, whispered it in his ear. The hunter’s arm tightened around Rick’s waist.

“Mmhm,” was Daryl’s gruff answer, but Rick really didn’t mind, because a timid _“Me, too”_ floated from the hunter at the same time.

***

The next few days flew by. They enjoyed the chance to have some personal space, they ransacked the gun cabinet (or the walk-in closet, more like), they washed every single item of clothing they had, and Carol, Andrea and T-Dog started raiding the other nearby houses for more clothes and food. They’d learned the hard way that nothing was permanent, that every peaceful moment should be put to good use. Daryl didn’t even have to come up with orders; Carol made suggestions, and he simply gave the go-ahead.

Rick feared this was just the eye of the storm, and he had to remind himself, over and over again, that _This is good_ , and he should enjoy it while it lasted, because _now_ was all anyone had in any case.

On the fourth night, Rick stepped out of the shower and groped blindly for his towel. Instead of soft terry, his fingers brushed over cold tiles and empty pegs. He wiped the rest of the water off his face and looked around. Daryl, fresh back in from an evening shift, leaned against the wall and dangled the towel on his finger. His eyes wandered on Rick’s body, and Rick felt a hot twitch of pleasant anticipation in his belly. 

“Ya need help with dryin’ yourself?”

Things between them had been returning to normal, a bit more each night. So maybe…

“You need help with your shower?” he countered.

A corner of Daryl’s mouth twitched. The way he grazed his lip with his teeth gave all the answer Rick needed.

The hunter put the towel back on the peg and stripped off his clothes. Rick’s eyes never left the other man’s body. Good God the man was exquisite! These past rough months had removed all extra fat and strengthened his muscles, and the man could’ve passed for a Greek god. Rick liked to think that he wasn’t a superficial person, all about the outer beauty, but Jesus H. Christ...he could appreciate the outer beauty as well as the inner one, couldn’t he? He was good at multitasking like that.

He wasn’t really thinking, he had lost himself to admiring the way Daryl’s body moved as the man walked to the shower stall, so Rick held the stall door open to let Daryl pass. The man entered the stall, brushed by Rick, and stepped to the shower tap to turn the water on. He said nothing, just stood under the flow of water and washed his face. Water ran down his back-

Wait.

His back?

Rick had seen Daryl naked plenty of times already, but not once during those times had the man turned his back on Rick. Rick hadn’t tried to touch him there, either; he figured Daryl would let him know when he’d be ready for that.

Daryl’s back was full of scars. Long, short, broad, thin, the kind that made the skin too smooth and shiny, and the kind that left bumps and knots. Some of them were covered by a large tattoo of two devils. Or was it an angel and a devil? Hard to tell with the water flowing over them.

Rick wondered if he should say something. But he was sure Daryl didn’t want pity, and the way he’d acted… he didn’t seem to want deep, meaningful discussions, either. This was not about that.

_Welcome! You have now entered the Highest Trust Level. Please continue the game. The aim from this moment on until the day you die is to remain on that level. Play well -- or Carol Peletier will be unleashed on you, in which case you will promptly rue the day you were born._

His brain was such a comedian at the most inconvenient times, Rick thought, stepped closer to Daryl, dipped himself under the shower stream, and kissed his lover on his neck.

“Thought ya were supposed to help me.” Daryl’s tone was light in a way Rick knew wasn’t genuine. Rick decided to rectify the situation asap.

“At your service, good sir,” Rick quipped, reached for the shampoo and got to work on Daryl’s hair. The hunter chuckled and put up some half-hearted resistance, but Rick paid it no attention, he enjoyed sinking his fingers in Daryl’s hair and massaging his scalp. Daryl relaxed, and when the shampoo finally flowed away with the warm water, the man turned around, wound his arms around Rick and drew him flush against him. 

“‘m thinkin’ ya gotta let me handle this,” Daryl drawled. “You’re fuckin’ distractin’,” and he rolled his hips softly against Rick, hard cock against hard cock. Rick pulled away his hands, pushed himself away from Daryl’s arms, stepped back, and leaned on the stall wall, arms crossed.

“No problem. I’ll just wait here. You take your time, I don’t mind watching.”

Rick saw a short battle waging in Daryl’s eyes, the same tug-of-war as always. The old _I ain’t nothin’ worth watchin’_ against the newer and still a little fragile confidence in being _wanted, admired, loved_.

The confident Daryl won, and by the time they stumbled out of the shower, barely having had the patience to dry themselves, Rick was so goddamn close to coming _un-fuckin’-touched_ it was ridiculous. “Get on the bed,” he ordered, his voice so low and gravelly he barely recognized it was his own. Daryl lay down, pillowed his head on his hands, stretched like a cat.

“Whatcha have in mind?” he drawled.

Rick said nothing. He walked to the nightstand on Daryl’s side of the bed, opened the drawer and took out the small bottle of lube. He sat down and ran his hand up Daryl’s leg and thigh and hip, all the way to his cheek, and leaned over to look at his man. Daryl’s eyes followed him, open and trusting, pupils surrounded by a thin circle of blue. Rick turned and settled himself beside Daryl, propped on his elbow, and kissed the hunter. When they paused for breath, Rick ran his finger over Daryl’s slick lips; the hunter opened his mouth and licked the finger, raised his head an inch and bit down on the finger and took it in his mouth. Rick watched his finger appear and disappear between Daryl’s thin lips and felt the heat and wetness and Daryl’s tongue, and his cock _ached_.

He pulled his finger free and Daryl squinted at him. “Whatcha have in mind?” he repeated. His eyes flicked down where Rick’s other hand rested, the bottle still in his tight grip. “Want me to use that?”

“Would you mind if I used it this time?” Rick’s hand started to skim its way back down. Daryl’s breath hitched and his body shuddered as Rick’s fingernails scraped over his nipple and continued down, down.

“Nuh,” Daryl murmured, eyelids fluttering shut, and bit his lip as Rick ran his fingers over the underside of his cock, back and forth. It twitched against his fingers like it was begging to be gripped properly. 

Rick sat up on his knees and opened the bottle. He glanced quickly at Daryl; the hunter’s eyes were cracked open, narrow slits with black and blue, peering at Rick. The leader poured a good dose of the fluid on his fingers and put the bottle back on the table. For a moment he simply sat there, admiring the view; then he lay down again, and his lube-slicked fingers glided over Daryl’s cock and balls, hesitated a second, and continued down. 

He had to remind himself to keep breathing. The sound of his breath felt like a distraction, he wanted to sense nothing else than Daryl. The man panted now, his hands were no longer behind his head; one had strayed on his belly, the other was gripping Rick’s shoulder.

Daryl moved his legs, spread his thighs and bent a knee, granting Rick easier access. Rick’s middle finger brushed over Daryl’s hole, and again, and Daryl’s low moan made his skin prickle.

“Rick…” Daryl pulled him closer and devoured his mouth and arched his hips to meet Rick’s cautious fingers. “I ain’t gonna break.”

A horrible crash of _need_ pounded into Rick; a frantic sob escaped him, his tongue attacked Daryl’s mouth, and his finger breached Daryl’s hole. He registered the sensations in a haze -- the incredible heat, the ring of muscle gripping his knuckle, the push and pull and suction, the way Daryl gasped in his mouth and hissed “Fuck yes!”, the way Daryl strained to push back, make his finger go deeper, eager and wanton. Rick glanced down; Daryl’s hand on his belly was convulsing, blunt fingernails scratching white lines on his skin, his cock twitching, red and leaking. Rick’s heart beat so fast the blood whooshed in his ears. His slick finger moved in and out easily now, and Daryl bit his earlobe and hissed, “Another.”

Rick was lost in the feeling of his fingers _inside_ his lover, the muscles squeezing, the lube-slicked walls of the channel making the passage smooth. And finally his finger crooked _just so_ , and the low cry, the jerk of Daryl’s hips, and the thump of his head on the pillow flooded Rick with intoxicating happiness. He’d done that, he’d given Daryl that. A _want_ flitted through his mind, a want to see how his fingers moved in and out, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off Daryl’s face, off this close-up of the rough redneck’s unrestrained pleasure. Eyelids fluttering, teeth biting into his lip, cheeks flushed, tendons straining in his neck… How could Rick look at anything else?

Daryl grabbed Rick’s arm. “Fuck me,” he rumbled, his voice a command and a plea.

“What?” Rick’s hand stopped, his mind hit a blank. “What?”

Daryl’s lust-blown eyes pierced him. “Ya heard me,” he said. “Put yer dick in me.”

Rick’s brain still wasn’t following this new turn of events very well, but his body sure was. His hips jerked, fucked against Daryl’s skin, and knew _exactly_ how this was supposed to roll.

He withdrew his fingers slowly out, sat up, opened the drawer, took out a condom. His hands shook as he put it on, he felt like he was eighteen all over again, about to have sex for the first time. He sensed Daryl’s hungry eyes on him and had never felt more wanted; the raw need emanating from his lover consumed him in all the best ways.

He poured more lube on his fingers, covered his cock with it, and settled between Daryl’s legs. The hunter’s narrowed eyes followed his every movement. Rick brushed the fluttery hole with a finger, pushed three in to add more slick, and concentrated hard on not coming on that sight alone.

Daryl raised his legs, spread them wide, invited him in. He entered slow, savoring each fraction of an inch, not wanting to hurt Daryl either. Balls deep, he leaned over Daryl, propped up on his elbows.

“Move,” the man whispered. Daryl’s hands were on Rick’s back, guiding his movements, fingertips digging into his skin. Rick shifted, searched...and Daryl let out a sudden moan, and Rick rocked hard into him, hit the prostate, fought against the need to close his eyes because he needed to _see_ Daryl, watch the feelings flicker freely on his face that was usually so stolid.

All too soon Rick felt the pressure pool and burn, and he was so close. Daryl’s thoughts burst into his mind, a swirl of _“God”_ , and _“Oh fuck!”_ , and _“Rick!”_ , and that was the final straw. His hips stuttered and slammed into Daryl one final time. Rick had just enough presence of mind left to hold himself up and worm a hand between them and wrap his fingers around Daryl’s dick. Daryl groaned at the touch; a few strokes were enough to make the hot cum spurt between them.

Rick stayed frozen in place for a moment, just to make sure he wouldn’t collapse on the other man. He strove to settle his breath and pulled himself slowly from Daryl. He took off the condom, mechanically tied it into a knot and dropped in on the floor. It really didn’t feel like the time to worry about tidiness.

He lay down beside Daryl. The younger man wiggled his arm under Rick’s head and drew him close.

“That was…” Rick was at a loss for words.

“That better have _amazin’_ in there.” Daryl’s relaxed, happy murmur.

Rick shifted, propped himself on his elbow and looked at Daryl. The man met his gaze and his eyes smiled.

“I can’t believe we did that,” Rick blurted out.

Daryl’s eyes turned just a bit wary. “Fuckin’ a man not what ya expected?” His voice wasn’t relaxed or happy anymore. 

Rick wanted to slap himself. How did he not learn? How did he not remember how vulnerable Daryl still was -- especially like this, laid bare in front of Rick, in every sense of the expression.

Rick brushed the damp bangles aside and sank his fingers in Daryl’s hair. “I mean I didn’t expect you’d want me to do...that. I guess I…” Rick felt himself blush and wasn’t that incredibly ridiculous after what they’d just done! “...kinda expected it to go the other way around.”

Daryl still had a whiff of suspicion in his eyes. “Ya didn’t like it?”

Rick huffed a surprised laugh. “Didn’t we agree on this a long time ago? If I hadn’t liked it, I wouldn’t have done it, honey.” Daryl’s eyes softened at the rare term of endearment. 

Rick went on, all the while brushing Daryl’s hair with loving fingers. “I loved it. It felt so good, I don’t have words for it. Like I said, I just hadn’t thought you’d want it like that.”

“Caught me by surprise as well, kinda…” Daryl said, a bit embarrassed now. He cleared his throat and quirked his mouth in a small smile. “An’ I got news for ya, Grimes. There’s no law says it can only go one way. So if ya-”

“Oh God yes.”

Daryl chuckled. “Keep on practicin’, then?”

Rick leaned over to kiss the smirking hunter. “Every chance we get,” he mumbled in Daryl’s mouth.

  
  



	19. Shifting Structures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly longer chapter for you lovely readers <3 Enjoy!

Their life was as close to normal as it had ever been since the walkers took over. It hadn’t been this easy even at the farm, what with the constant disagreements and unnecessary drama. They had a routine now. Guard shifts to handle, other houses to raid, clothes to wash and repair, weeks of sleep debt to pay back. 

Rick didn’t want to think about leaving. But not thinking about practical issues was one of those luxuries he didn’t get to have, so on the sixth day he called a committee meeting in the TV room. They made a preliminary decision to stay for another two weeks. The food supplies would last for three, maybe, so they’d get a nice head start when they’d leave. Despite the cold and the intermittent snowing, the spring would arrive, the walkers would be faster, and people would be on the move more, the group would have to go on longer runs, venture away from the community area in the woods, and every day would make their camp here more dangerous. It was a lovely house, but the location was open with no other natural cover except the woods. Indefensible, like the farm had been.

But they still had two weeks left. Maggie got stronger every day, and the haunted looks in the eyes of Beth, Hershel and Glenn were just a memory. Around that time some discreet room arrangements were made, and T-Dog now spent his nights in Lori’s room. They threw a few tense looks at Rick, but he only smiled at them. T-Dog was a good man. A strong man. 

Rick was glad it had worked out like this. If he was quite honest with himself, he was glad it wasn’t Shane. He still felt nothing towards the man, and he wondered if he ever would again. But months had passed, and Shane had his place in the group now, and Rick never hesitated to turn his back on him the way he had when they’d still called each other a friend. So it was better now. But it did make him wonder, however; shouldn’t he feel something by now? Shouldn’t a few scraps of old positive feelings have returned? Wouldn’t that be...human?

He didn’t want to think of the black monster within; it was sleeping now, and each day of shelter and food and security bolstered the walls and strengthened the tethers. But...what if he was damaged now, beyond repair?

They made love that night again. Rick didn’t want to call it _fucking_ even though that was what it was -- unbridled sex, lust, sweat, panting, scraping nails, lovebites all over their bodies, and when Rick pumped feverishly into Daryl, he thought he’d lose his mind from the pleasure. 

Yet it wasn’t just fucking. Rick wanted to say as much to Daryl but chickened out at the last minute. His feelings were too much and he’d probably break into love poem or something, and Lord knew how the hunter would’ve reacted to that! But he did let his thoughts leak on purpose when they were tangled together, when Daryl bit into Rick’s neck to hold his cries of orgasm in check, when Rick sucked his cock, when Daryl fingered him open and made him come with his fingers, or when Rick kissed Daryl’s back as he was slowly pushing himself inside. It wasn’t _fucking_ he thought, it was _love_. And Daryl didn’t snort or scoff or roll his eyes. He held Rick tighter, kissed deeper, and afterwards cuddled like he’d never want to let Rick go.

Rick trusted the man with his heart, his soul, his body. So he asked him about Shane, about the blackness inside of him. Tried to form sentences to describe his fear.

“Yer nuts.” Daryl said it like that was all there was to it; case closed, good talk. 

Rick’s head rested in the crook of his neck and Daryl’s fingertips drew lazy circles in Rick’s back. Rick couldn’t help but chuckle.

Daryl seemed to realize the occasion needed a few extra words.

“The man planned to kill ya. A few decades of bein’ your best friend, ya called him your brother, an’ he _tried to shoot ya in the head_. I dunno… I ain’t much for forgive an’ forget, but ya do what ya gotta do with that, an’ maybe it’d be healthy an’ shit… but even so, even if you forgive an’ forget, where does it say ya should return to bein’ best buddies? Ain’t no law that says that. Ya wonder if you’re less human without any of them warm an’ fuzzy feelings for the guy, but I say that’s what _makes_ ya human. Keep him in the group, be professional about it, civil an’ all that crap -- fine by me. I’d still throw him out but ya wanna keep him, I’m ok with that. Your decision. But don’t ya go around feelin’ all sad an’ tragic just ‘cause you’re _actually human_ an’ not a fuckin’ _saint!_ ”

Rick felt Daryl press a kiss on his head.

“An’ the monster-of-the-week stuff… remember what I told ya? I think it was after Jimmy died.”

“I remember,” Rick mumbled. A hot tear welled in his eye. “As long as I can still say ‘what the fuck, man?!’ to myself, it isn’t bad yet.”

Daryl squeezed him fondly. “I bet I said it prettier,” he huffed, “but yeah, something like that. Ya have your monster but ya ain’t dead inside.”

Rick swallowed. He chuckled in spite of the tear now running down his cheek. “So what you’re sayin’ is, so far so good?”

“Pretty much. Ya keep me human, I keep ya human. That was the deal.”

***

One thing about the house made absolutely no sense: the lighting in the bathrooms was shit. The only bathroom-ish place that had a sink, an outlet, a mirror, and _excellent_ lighting was the utility room. Go figure.

On the tenth morning Rick took the electric razor they’d found in one of the houses and padded to the utility room. He’d scraped his face a few times with regular razors during the months on the road, but he wanted the luxury and ease of the machine this once. Daryl bumped into him on the way and followed him.

Daryl hopped to sit on the counter by the sink and leaned on the wall, arms crossed. Rick took off his shirt and Daryl eyed the bare torso with blatant approval. Rick plugged the razor in and took a careful look in the mirror. Daryl frowned.

“Ya ain’t gonna shave it all off?”

Rick glanced at him, quirked an eyebrow.

“What, you got something against clean-shaven men?”

“Don’t care about _men_ , just you.” _Daryl winked, for God’s sake!_ “Don’t give a rat’s ass what other guys do.”

A grin spread slowly on Rick’s face. “You have a thing for my beard?” he teased.

Daryl huffed. “An’ what if I do?” He sat up straight and brushed Rick’s jaw with a finger. “Kinda like how it feels.”

Rick widened his eyes, big and blue and oh so innocent. “On your finger?”

Daryl snorted. “Sure. I get a kick out of scratchin’ hedgehogs. Ya didn’t know that?”

“I knew there was something weird about you!”

“Got me there. A guy _tries_ to keep his deep secrets, an’ then one day…”

Rick laughed out loud, and Daryl let out a long, soft chuckle. His low rumble was light and happy, “Nah, ya know what I mean.” He gave a pointed look at Rick and licked his lips. 

Rick shook his head, still laughing. “You keep doing that and we get back in our room in a hurry.”

Daryl pursed his lips and pretended to consider. “So… what we have here is an operational decision on how to allocate time. Either use it to shave ya clean, or spend it usin’ that stubble to other purposes in our room. Hmm. Decisions, decisions… luckily it’s an operational decision so ya don’t get a say in this.”

Daryl tried to snatch the razor from Rick’s hand but he turned around, grinning, and held the razor as far from the hunter as possible. Daryl grabbed him, wrapped his arms around him, and pretended to wrench the small machine from his hand. Rick felt Daryl’s chest against his back and sensed how the man shook with silent laughter. 

He heard a tactful little cough, and their laughter died instantly and their heads snapped towards the door. Andrea and Shane stood there; she had her lopsided smile on her face, and her eyes were crinkled in amusement. Shane… Rick was all out of practice in deciphering his ex-brother’s expressions, but to his amazement he thought he got this one: Shane was puzzled. That was the face of a man who had only just now stumbled upon the first step of a realization.

What he was realizing, Rick had no idea, however.

“We’re sorry. Didn’t want to startle you,” Andrea said in her soft voice. “Just came to see if the laundry was done.”

Daryl still had his arms around Rick. He lowered his chin on Rick’s shoulder. “You could’ve just come in. We were just horsin’ around.”

She went just a bit red. “I didn’t want to disturb you. And honestly, boys...?” Andrea winked. 

_What is it with people winking all the frickin’ time?_ Rick thought. 

“...It was fun watching you.”

“Good Lord…” Daryl muttered at the same time as Rick barked a laugh. Andrea giggled, and -- Rick could hardly believe his eyes -- Shane rolled his eyes in an amused manner. 

_We’ve sure come a long way from fucktoys and loverboys._

Andrea walked over to the dryer and started to take the clothes out. Daryl let go of Rick and resumed the leaning-on-the-wall and eyed suspiciously the small razor in Rick’s hand. 

Shane cleared his throat, and both men turned to look at him. Rick sensed how Andrea tensed up just a little.

“Y’know, I went on a run with Glenn yesterday. That house we checked, I found a razor with a trimmer and a nice set of combs. I’ve got it in our room. Wanna use it?”

As hard as Rick tried, he couldn’t find any scorn in Shane’s voice. It wasn’t easy and natural, it was careful and tentative -- but it was a genuine offer. Shane’s olive branch.

Those warm and fuzzy feelings towards Shane which Daryl had mentioned a few days ago -- Rick didn’t have them. The olive branch didn’t magically return any of those feelings. But the monster didn’t wake up either; it slept an even deeper sleep. What Rick felt, to his great surprise, was a sense of peace. After all the agonizing, all the non-feelings and the crisis of humanity he’d had over this, he was finally ready. He let go of his fears, and accepted the branch, and his group now truly had twelve members.

“If it’s not too much trouble. Thanks, Shane.” His voice had a some real warmth in it, and he sensed Andrea relax, and saw a cautious smile tug Shane’s mouth.

And he heard Daryl’s exasperated sigh. _“You’re nuts.”_ But there was no hiding the fondness the hunter let float along the words.

***

Maggie had started to go stir-crazy, so four days later, almost three weeks after the ambush, Hershel gave in and let Maggie limp outside the house. She clung heavily on Glenn; she was weak and couldn’t really put weight on her leg, but she smiled like a lunatic at the crisp air and at the sun that was shining from a clear sky. Her good mood caught on, and they spent a rare day of complete inaction. No scouting, no new rounds of raids in the houses of the community. Just lounging about, playing boardgames, singing along with Beth.

But reality lurks in dark corners. They had built a routine to have a committee session every week, whether there were any issues or not. It just felt right. They had a meeting that evening, and Daryl took the floor and reminded them that their time was running out along with the supplies of food and medicine. They had a few days to decide what to do next.

Daryl paused and chewed on his lower lip. “So, do we start packin’, Rick?”

Rick studied the man’s face. “I feel an ‘or’ coming. You have an alternate solution in mind?”

“Dunno if it’s a solution. ‘m just suggestin’ we take a few calculated risks. It’s either that or leave this place in a few days, an’ then it’s a whole new ballgame, we’re out there again, an’ it’s still cold, an’ Maggie ain’t hundred per cent yet, not even fifty…” Daryl’s voice drifted off.

“I’m listening,” Rick said.

The others didn’t say anything, just watched their dialogue like a theater show.

“I was huntin’ yesterday.” 

The hunt had yielded three rabbits, and Carol had hummed happily, cooking a nice stew with the fresh meat. Daryl went on. 

“There’s a field north from here. It’s real big, an’ ya could go around it but it would take hours an’ there’d still be places with no cover. So it’d be a risk. But I had the binoculars so I checked what I could. An’ there’s a few houses on the other side of it. Two, maybe two an’ a half miles over the field. Tryin’ to stay in cover, probably double the distance. I kept my eyes on the houses for two hours, didn’t see anyone there. Might be they’re already raided, might be they’re not. An’ it would be a risk. But there could be food an’ stuff there, an’ it might buy us a few more weeks here.”

Hershel cleared his throat. “I must admit I’ve been troubled by our situation. It is like Daryl said. Either we start packing now and take our chances on the road which is _one_ kind of risk, or we try to find more supplies by extending the range of the runs to prolong our stay here, which is _another_ kind of risk. The way I see it, any which way we decide, there is a risk.” He paused to look at the others. Rick nodded him to continue.

“My focus is on the health of this group. Maggie has just started walking again, and it’ll still take weeks before she can even dream of being her old self. Before she can run or fight effectively. At the moment, our supplies will last less than a week. If we found more supplies, even for another week, it would make a considerable difference for Maggie. On the other hand, there’s Lori. She’s nearing the end of the second trimester. Every single day of peace, rest, proper food is vital to her and the baby. However, even if we found supplies for the next four _months_ , there’s still the security aspect: can we trust this place enough or not. And that decision has to be made soon, regardless of the supply situation. Nothing is certain, I know that, but it would be extremely ill-advised to delay leaving for too long. We leave when Lori is eight months pregnant...would anyone care to calculate the odds for us quickly finding a secure, warm place where Lori could give birth safely? Or as safely as any childbirth can be in the current circumstances. And yes,” Hershel looked at Rick with a grave face, “I know about Carl and the C-section.”

Carol summed up the situation, counted with her fingers. “So, leaving now wouldn’t be great for Maggie, but Lori would still be in good shape to run around the country. Staying here a few more weeks would be good for Maggie and Lori, but requires a risk of longer runs. And staying here for longer than that requires even more of those longer runs, meaning more risk, meaning spring and faster walkers, meaning a risk of us leaving _too_ late, pregnancy-wise.”

Glenn scratched his neck. “Put it like that, and they all sound like horrible alternatives.”

Rick’s smile was wan. “Yes, it seems we’ve got to try choose the _least_ horrible one. And even that would benefit from a crystal ball. Anyone got one lying around? Mine’s being repaired at the moment.” His small smile faded away. “Here’s what I suggest: Daryl, you arrange a scouting trip for tomorrow. Go take a look at those houses. You’re the expert, find the safest route. If it takes a few hours more, it doesn’t matter. Your safety is more important. Take someone with you. I’d come but my leg still can’t handle running. In a few more days, maybe, but not yet. We check this option first. If there’s nothing there...well, we’ll probably have to leave. Better to leave with a plan than try to hold on to the last minute, spend all the food here, and then we’d be hungry out there within a day.”

Rick drew breath. “No, we try this first.”

Daryl nodded and glanced at Glenn and Carol. “You two. Tomorrow. We leave after breakfast.”

***

The next morning came much too soon for Rick’s peace of mind. He hadn’t said anything about the run to Daryl the previous night; there was nothing to say that the hunter wouldn’t know already. Their lovemaking had been unhurried, and Daryl’s strokes on both their cocks had been so slow it had been a kind of pleasant torture. Rick had felt every touch as if it burned through his skin, and the orgasm had built little by little, so quietly that when it finally pushed him over the edge, it was like his body disintegrated in slow motion, blew up in a storm of twinkling stardust.

And now they were gone, vanished into the dawn. It was a good team, Rick knew that. Daryl worked well with Glenn and Carol; Maggie, too, before her accident. Sometimes he took T-Dog, or Andrea. Twice Daryl had knuckled under to Beth’s relentless pleas, and taken her along with Glenn and Carol when they emptied the nearby houses. Long before the ambush, Beth had insisted that she had to learn, too. That she was eighteen -- give or take a few weeks -- healthy, swift on her legs and good with her knife, and it wasn’t sensible for the good of all to keep her confined to kitchen duty. After Maggie’s accident, her pleas had got stronger. Anyone can get hurt, Beth had said, they couldn’t afford to keep her in arbitrary safety when they might need competent scouts at any time, and it was better to be trained.

Hershel hadn’t been thrilled to have his youngest daughter out there, but he’d taken Daryl’s role to heart -- these decisions were up to the hunter, and that was all there was to it.

Shane never went with Daryl, and never asked to. He knew the answer he’d get, and he never complained about it. Whenever Andrea left with the others, he simply kissed her good luck, and went about his own tasks. Rick didn’t meddle with Daryl’s decisions, either. The scout groups were about trust, and it would take a long time for Daryl to have that kind of trust in Shane. Maybe it would never happen. When Rick would feel up to going on runs again, maybe he’d ask Daryl to include Shane as well, just to try it out, see how it goes. After the incident in the utility room, Rick was ready to test the waters.

But he wasn’t going anywhere just yet. As he stared at the footprints of the small team on the thin layer of melting snow, the thought of being still stuck in here made him gnash his teeth so hard the sound of it attracted Carl’s attention; the boy stood by his side, watching the team leave.

“Dad?”

“It’s nothing, son.”

The boy looked at his dad fondly and bumped him lightly with his shoulder. “No, it’s not nothing. That’s your face every time Daryl leaves somewhere, except now it’s even worse. You’ll hurt your teeth and we’re short on dentists, y’know.”

A small smile tugged a corner of Rick’s mouth. “Wise-ass,” he said, and bumped him back with his arm.

He turned his gaze back out the window and tried to find some zen within himself. _Daryl’s better with that crap_ , he thought drily, _which is all sorts of ironic. The grumpy redneck is the resident zen master, whereas the sheriff’s deputies -- the trained and experienced professionals -- have shown remarkable aptitude in losing their shit._

But Hershel had been adamant: if Rick tried to do too much too soon, it would slow the recovery down, and at worst, damage the healing muscles and wound all over again. “Three more days,” he’d said, “then you can try a few shorter runs.” 

So here he was, being so goddamn patient and zen his head would explode from all the fucking patience and all the fucking zen! Rick felt like a whiny teenager. _Oops_. He caught up with the thought. With the company he was holding, ‘whiny’ and ‘teenager’ really didn’t go well together. Beth and Carl hardly were stereotypical kids, for which he was immensely happy.

He spent a few hours with Hershel, looking at the maps, trying to figure out possible routes, directions to take, make a priority list of sorts. Eventually, the day would come when they’d have to leave, and Rick rather preferred to be prepared for all sorts of exits -- be they slow and controlled, or hurried and panicky.

Rick was taking a slow stroll in the yard when Carl asked for a permission to train with his crossbow. Rick reminded him of what Daryl had said on his birthday. Carl tried to sweet-talk Rick, appeal to his authority as the father and the leader. Rick raised his eyebrow.

“Really, Carl?” he said in a wry voice. “Nice try.”

“You afraid of making your boyfriend upset with you?” retorted Carl, for a second genuinely miffed and sounding exactly his age.

Rick frowned. “I don’t much appreciate that tone.” He studied the face of his son; Carl still had a stubborn look on his face but a pink tinge was spreading on his cheeks. Carl was embarrassed, Rick knew that. And the boy didn’t have too many chances to be a rude and rebellious teenager, so Rick decided to go easy on him this time. Hell, he’d let Shane mouth off much worse for a much longer time, simply to let the man vent in the least dangerous way. 

“You’re right, I wouldn’t intentionally want to upset my partner, and there’s nothing wrong with that. However, if I really thought I had a good reason, if I absolutely believed it was necessary for reasons of security or something, I would do it. But do you honestly believe that your crossbow training is _that_ important?” 

Carl stared at nothing, still too stubborn to give even the slightest nod.

“But it’s not even about that. It’s not about keeping my boyfriend happy -- and I think you know that, Carl. I have my responsibilities, but Daryl has his, too, and I’ve _given_ him those responsibilities. He can’t work efficiently if I overstep his orders for any little reason that happens to pop into my mind. It doesn’t work like that, Carl. Daryl supervises the training and weaponry, he specifically forbade you to practice with the crossbow unless he’s present, and I will not go against his orders simply because you’d like me to. That’s something called _respect_ , young man, and I _know_ you know this.” 

Carl’s nod was ever so tiny.

“And I gotta say this too, Carl… you said I could give you the permission ‘cause I’m your dad. Well, with many other things that would be true. I am your dad, of course. But Carl… for you, Daryl is the closest thing to a _step_ -dad this new world order allows for. Have you thought about that?” he added, his voice kind now. They hadn’t talked about this at all, and suddenly Rick didn’t have the foggiest idea _why_. Carl had seemed to slip into the new family arrangement so effortlessly, Rick had overlooked to actually talk about it with him. Rick rolled his eyes to himself. _Great job with the parenting._

Carl glanced at him. “Not really. Daryl’s just… Daryl. Your...partner. And I have no problem with that,” he rushed the words out. “I like Daryl a lot, you know that. And I like how he likes you. And how you like him. He’s family now.” 

He bit his lip and admitted, “But I haven’t thought about the dad stuff.” He glanced at Rick again, thinking; then he blurted out a question. 

“Would you want to marry him? I mean, if you could?”

Rick was taken completely by surprise. He stayed silent for such a long time that Carl nudged him. 

“Dad? Would you?”

“I...haven’t thought about that, to be honest. All of that seems so, I don’t know... _unnecessary_ now. Invitations, and prenups, and wedding receptions, and who’s taking whose last name…” He realized he was babbling, he couldn’t quite put his thought into words, the _futility_ of the idea of marriage in the walker world. And why was he even talking like this to his 13-year-old child?

 _Because if he’s old enough to ask, he’s old enough to receive a proper answer,_ said the sensible part of his brain.

“Still doesn’t answer the question. If you could, would you _want_ to marry him?” asked the said child, back to being his smart, reflective self.

There was really only one answer to that.

“If he wanted to, I’d marry him in a heartbeat,” he said, and smiled, and thought about decades together with the man he loved, the man who was his best friend, who he trusted more than he trusted himself.

Carl smiled back at him. Then Rick saw a mischievous glint in his eye. “I bet Daryl would look real fetching in a white dress and a veil,” and the boy sniggered, amused at the flippant thought. Rick went along with the joke.

“Nah, I kinda picture him in a smart suit, dark gray maybe… I, on the other hand, I’ve always been partial to hot pink ruffle. I’m thinking a hot pink suit, hot pink shoes, hot pink tie. Not sure where the pink ruffle would fit in but I gotta have it. Or olive green, can’t really decide,” he deadpanned, and tapped his chin as if he was thinking hard. “Olive green suit AND hot pink shoes, that’s it!”

Carl giggled -- knowing only too well that the only two colors his dad really couldn’t stand in any way, shape or form, be it nail polish, skirts, shirts, cars, shoes, or even decorative pillows, were hot pink and olive green.

“You decide to go through with that plan, please don’t forget to invite me too, I’d _pay_ to see you wearing hot pink ruffle,” said an amused voice behind them. 

They hadn’t noticed Andrea step out the house; she was leaning on the porch post and watched them, mouth curved into smile. “Dark gray would be great for Daryl, it would even match the crossbow. Which he would of course wear to the church, just in case you decided to get cold feet at the last second.” 

Now Carl was howling with laughter, and Rick had a hard time keeping his chortles in check. Andrea extended her hands, like showing a scenario to them, or framing a picture. “And here comes Rick Grimes with the ruffle and the Python -- a dashing new wedding fashion statement!… And for the wedding march, Beth would hum the Imperial March. Oh yes, please let me plan the wedding, I have soooo many great ideas!”

Carl hickupped and wheezed. “Too bad you can’t marry, dad.” He frowned. “No-one can now. There are all those licenses, right? An’ you’d gotta sign stuff, right? Not many courts or churches open for business now…”

To Rick’s surprise, Andrea took Carl’s musings seriously. “The old system is gone, that’s true, Carl. But if you think about it, a marriage is just a contract and a promise, right? Courts may be down and churches might not have anyone to play the organ, but do you really think people will stop making contracts? Making deals of some kind? Stop making promises, stop trying to keep those promises, come what may?” Andrea shook her head. “No, I don’t believe they will. _Til death do us part_ will still be a valid promise, even without the meddlesome officials and bureaucracy.”

She chewed on her lip. “There will still be a place for making those contracts -- and canceling them as well. The need to commit, or _un_ commit, will not cease to exist simply because there’s nobody left to charge for paperwork.”

Rick couldn’t help but wonder how much of that had less to do with him and Daryl -- or him and Lori -- and everything to do with her and Shane.

***

Late in the afternoon, he walked slowly outside, careful not to strain his leg too much and glad that it was getting better so fast. For a time, he watched Carl spar with Shane and Beth, and had just turned to return back inside, when he heard the familiar whistle. 

The small team trudged behind the corner. They looked beat but unharmed, and their backpacks were bulging. Carl gave a happy cry and trotted over to them, Beth on his tail. He voiced Rick’s question.

“You ok?”

Carol nodded at him.

“Find anything?” Carl peered at the bags.

“Sure we did. Get inside. I ain’t about to carry this stuff a second longer than I gotta,” Daryl grumbled. His eyes met Rick’s, and there was a tired but smug expression in them, and Rick knew it had gone well.

***

Except for the twenty or so walkers that had been stuck in those two houses, it had indeed gone well. There was plenty of foodstuffs in there, and even though the medicine cabinets hadn’t been much to speak of, they too had been unlooted and held a few packs of painkillers, some just a bit old antibiotics, and a bottle of basic disinfectant. 

“We’ll take another trip tomorrow, we already talked about that on the way back. Now we know the quickest route and our way around the houses, and we’ve taken care of the walkers, so it won’t take as much time. Any day now, someone else could find that place, and there’s still stuff there. What we brought back will give us a week, another trip would make it two.” 

Glenn’s report was short and to the point. Hershel gave a relieved sigh. Rick nodded, inventorying their supplies in his head once again.

“We’ve put aside supplies for six days on the road. If you manage to take a second trip tomorrow, that would mean we could stay here for two and a half weeks.” His eyes brushed over Maggie. “I’m sure none of us would mind getting to spend another two weeks in this place.”

Later, he asked Daryl about the cars. It worried him that they only had the two. They’d found no cars in the community area, which suggested that Daryl had probably been right and that the people had been together somewhere else. 

Daryl stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders. “Wanna take a shower. Got walker goo in my goddamn hair. ‘s disgustin’.” He seemed to hear his own words and grimaced. “Shit. I’m gettin’ too used to this shower crap. Yeah, about them cars… There were two but they wouldn’t start. Dead batteries. We could try to jump-start them but we better do that when we’re outta here for good. The less tracks we leave, the better.” 

Rick nodded. “You go take your shower, and come to the kitchen after. I bet you’re all hungry.”

He walked to the kitchen and found Beth and Lori making some sort of stew out of various kinds of cans.

“Need help?”

“I really do,” Lori sighed. “I don’t know how Carol does it with these cans. I can never make them taste like anything. But she’s been out there the whole day so…”

“At least it’s hot…”

“Yeah, the one saving grace,” Lori laughed. “You take the plates. Beth, you get the water. This’ll be done in a few minutes.”

Rick and Beth set the huge kitchen table. The girl seemed to be thinking something really hard, gathering her courage, throwing sideglances at him.

“Rick?”

“Mmhm?”

“Do you think...I mean, I have been with them before, only not so far away, so...Do you think he...Or could you maybe talk to him..?”

Smile tugged at Rick’s mouth. He saw where this was going but decided to let Beth go on. She wanted something like that, she’d better be capable of asking for it herself.

Beth drew a deep breath. “Do you think Daryl would take me with them?”

“Daryl would take ya where?” The hunter’s rumble almost made Beth drop a glass. The hunter was standing at the doorway, running his fingers through his damp hair, trying to make the wet, messy locks settle down.

Beth turned crimson, but the set of her mouth was determined. “I want to come with you tomorrow. When you return to those houses.” She licked her dry lips. “Please,” she added, like an afterthought.

Rick expected Daryl to give an immediate ‘no’. Instead, he saw the hunter weigh her up with his eyes, and actually consider her request.

“‘s dangerous. ‘s not like traipsing through these houses here.”

“I know,” she said.

“We don’t got time to babysit you out there. You come with, you don’t be dead weight, ‘s that clear? We got your back, but ya gotta have ours, too.”

“Yes,” she said, and held her head just a bit higher. Rick’s heart ached to see the young girl try so hard to look competent and brave -- to be an adult at an age where, only half a year ago, her thoughts would’ve centered on somewhat less life-threatening concerns, like the right to vote, or apply for a credit card.

Daryl studied her a long minute. Beth obviously wanted to fidget but she held her ground under the hunter’s gaze which -- and Rick knew this from personal experience -- could be like staring at the business end of a loaded shotgun. You knew you were being weighed, and you dearly hoped you weren’t found wanting.

Then he nodded. “Fine. I would’ve taken someone in any case. There’s a lot to carry. An’ an extra set of eyes is never a bad thing.” He turned his gaze to Rick. “An’ it’s good practice for her. Like, only semi-dangerous.”

Beth grinned. “Thanks, Daryl. I won’t let you down.” Then she shuddered lightly. “Can’t wait to tell dad…”

Daryl smirked. “Yeah, well, you’re in the big leagues now, kid. If ya ain’t got the guts to talk to your ol’ man, I sure ain’t gonna take ya with us to an actual run.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Geez, Daryl, I didn’t say I wasn’t gonna. Just not thrilled about it…”

She left to gather the others. Daryl’s eyes flicked to Rick, to Lori. “You don’t agree,” he said, the tone flickering between a statement and a question.

Lori shook her head, lost in thought. “Y’know, the whole end of the world business has made me realize how traditional I am. The old world wasn’t...extreme enough, I guess. Nowadays, it’s like we’re back in the Dark Ages, and I’ve found that my gut reaction is that the knights are men. Always men. I don’t like even Carol going out there.”

Rick stared at her. She’d never said anything to him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she laughed at Rick. “I’m not proud of this! I know we can’t afford that kind of thinking. The ladies just can’t sit around doing embroidery. And you’ve seen me do my part as well as I can. It just, it’s funny how it took the end of the world for me to notice this in myself.”

She grew serious again and turned her gaze on Daryl. “So no, I don’t really agree, you letting Beth come with you. But then, it’s not my decision, is it? And if there’s one thing I’ve learned these past months -- against my less-than-finer feelings, I may add, to be strictly honest -- is that you can be trusted. Both of you,” she added. “But please, bring her back.”

There was a moment’s silence. Rick broke it with a quiet chuckle.

“The things you learn about people you’ve thought you knew.” He looked at Daryl. “Beth has to learn. And this is good, doing it like this, stage by stage. So I don’t have a problem with it. I _know_ you’ll bring her back.” 

***

A few hours later, Daryl was lying on their bed, watching Rick dry himself after shower. 

“I don’t really like it,” he blurted out.

It took Rick a few seconds to figure out what he meant.

“Beth?” he ventured.

The ‘good night’ they’d received from Hershel had been stiff. He hadn’t been pleased with Daryl at all. Rick supposed the old man’s paternal instincts were screaming in agony, but Hershel was good with the bigger picture, he understood the logic of it, the benefit to the whole group. Didn’t stop the screams, though, Rick imagined.

“Nobody _likes_ it. I hate the idea of a barely 18-year-old kid out there on a run.”

“You know why we gotta, though, don’tcha?”

Rick sat on the bed, buck-naked, and Daryl ran his hand up and down his back.

“Twelve of us. Lori’s pregnant, Hershel’s not really young enough, and Carl’s _too_ young. Me and Maggie -- out of commission for the moment, and she will remain so for a long time. That leaves only six people in adequate condition to go on runs. Beth is a wild card, and it absolutely makes sense to make her the seventh one. So it’s a good decision to train her. It’s only practical -- still, doesn’t mean I like it.”

Daryl tugged at Rick’s arm and the leader flopped by his side ungracefully.

“Smooth,” Daryl smirked.

“We can’t all be mountain lions,” grumbled Rick, and wriggled under the blankets. 

“Wanna keep talkin’ about tomorrow or not?” Daryl’s palm brushed over Rick’s chest and stopped just under the ribcage.

“Or not,” he replied, and his abs contracted as Daryl’s fingers curled and raked down his body. Rick pulled him closer and their lips met. Daryl licked into his mouth, and let his fingertips slide over the velvety skin of Rick’s cock, half-hard already, reacting to the touch, twitching like it was begging to be gripped properly.

Rick inhaled quickly and moaned into Daryl’s mouth. He felt the hunter’s lips quirk into a smile and the man stopped kissing just long enough to ask the world’s most pointless question. 

“Ya like that?”

Rick snorted and attacked Daryl’s neck. The hunter brought his hand to his mouth and licked; he gripped Rick’s cock again and started to coax it into full hardness. Rick ran his tongue on the beautiful line of his lover’s clavicle, scraped it lightly with his teeth, and Daryl grunted.

“Put yer hand on me, man,” he rasped. Rick took his time in obeying the command. The fingernails raked slowly over Daryl’s side, over the sensitive skin of his hip and groin, caressed his inner thigh.

“I thought you’d be too tired for this. After the day you had,” he said conversationally, just to tease the man a bit longer.

“I ain’t the old and decrepit one in this relationship.” Daryl’s words came out downright snippy, and Rick bit his lip to suppress a smile. He relented, and wrapped his fingers around the hunter’s cock. With every stroke he spread a little more of the precum, and Daryl’s cock slid in the tight ring of his fingers with pleasurable ease. And for a few moments they were all hands and lips and hard breaths.

Without a word, Daryl pulled back and groped at the nightstand, managed to find the small bottle, and gave one final hard kiss to Rick. “Wanna try out something,” he said quietly. “Ya don’t like it, ya tell me, ok?”

Rick felt only feverish excitement. Things Daryl wanted to ‘try out’ usually felt real good. For someone so reserved and shy, the hunter lost all inhibitions when the lust took over. He trusted Rick, and had for a long time now, and the love and the trust and the lust softened the edges of his self-consciousness, and he let go -- free and uninhibited. 

Daryl sat up, took a pillow and crammed it under Rick’s ass. The leader saw the direction this was taking and his body reacted accordingly. His dick twitched like mad, and Daryl gave a low, rumbling chuckle, which sent waves of tingles on Rick’s skin.

The hunter sat there, not moving, simply looking at Rick, biting his lip, assessing. Daryl’s gaze met his. Rick saw a quick flash of uncertainty in his eyes.

“Ya tell me, ok?” the hunter doublechecked.

Rick smiled. “Don’t worry.”

Daryl leaned down and kissed him briefly on the lips. He licked and kissed his way down Rick’s body, and by the time he reached Rick’s dick, the leader was a quivering mess and couldn’t help but grab Daryl’s shoulder and push him a little. _“Suck me,”_ he begged, and felt a soft puff of a chuckle on his cock. Then the tip of Daryl’s tongue circled the head, around and around, and just as Rick was about to cry out of frustration, the hunter closed his lips around the head and let the cock slide deep into his hot, wet mouth.

All too soon Daryl pulled back and wiggled between Rick’s legs. Daryl’s tongue laved his balls, and Rick let out a helpless whimper, he was so close already, and Daryl’s long fingers jerking him off almost pushed him over the edge, almost, so close-

Daryl seemed to notice and pressed a kiss on the shaft and sat up. His gaze was intense, lips swollen and glistening. “Not yet,” he smirked. Rick heard the nervous tone underneath, however, but it took him a few more seconds to put two and two together. 

“Up,” Daryl ordered, and nudged Rick’s thighs. 

Without hesitation, Rick did just that -- not the first time either, Daryl liked to watch his fingers work their way deep inside Rick’s body. And watching that was hot as hell -- watching Daryl lick his lips, bite them, his eyes fixed on the tight little muscle and slick fingers...yeah, hot as hell. So Rick yanked his legs up and held them with his hands, as comfortably as he could. He wondered, though, what was making Daryl nervous, this was familiar gro….

 _Oh! Oh yes..._ And Rick couldn’t help but smile, and the smile grew into an excited grin. He craned his neck to look at Daryl. The man was looking at Rick, running his eyes all over Rick’s body. He skimmed his hands on the back of Rick’s thighs, all the way down to Rick’s ass and back up again. Finally the hands were back on Rick’s ass. He stopped there, seemed to hold his breath for a second. He glanced quickly at Rick, and the leader gave him a small nod.

Daryl brushed the skin of Rick’s butt-cheeks with his thumbs. He shifted his grip, kneaded the cheeks, massaged them, glanced up, registered how Rick’s dick leaked, how Rick bit his lip hard, and Rick saw the tip of Daryl’s tongue peek between his lips, wetting them so goddamn slow. Rick tried to steady his breathing, _gonna get a fuckin’ heart-attack at this rate…_

The hunter’s touch turned greedy, more urgent. He kneaded the butt-cheeks, spread them, the thumbs brushed but didn’t _touch_ \-- and Rick squirmed.

 _“Touch me already!”_ He felt no shame; stating these things was a turn-on in and of itself, and he knew Daryl liked it. It was a long time since Rick had worried about being unseemly proactive.

Daryl didn’t answer, but Rick noticed a corner of his mouth twitch. His right hand let go of Rick’s ass and moved a little towards the small bottle. Daryl seemed to have second thoughts, however, because the hand returned without the bottle, and Rick saw Daryl suck in his middle finger, wet it thoroughly, and felt the brush of the slick finger over his hole.

 _“Happy now?”_ said Daryl’s amused voice in Rick’s head. The fingertip rubbed on the puckered muscle, pressed lightly, rubbed and teased and pressed with just a tiny bit more force, and Rick prepared himself for that weird-wonderful feeling of being filled, when the touch stopped abruptly.

Rick hadn’t even noticed his eyes had fluttered shut. He opened them again and raised his head to look at Daryl. Daryl’s eyes were on him already, his lower lip drawn between his teeth, and Rick was just about to ask what the hell, when Daryl brought his hand to his mouth and licked the finger once, twice, then put it back to work and pushed it past the tight muscle to Rick’s hot channel.

A breathy moan escaped him. Rick was trying to process what he’d just seen, but the feel of Daryl’s finger scrambled his mind and he’d almost closed his eyes anew when the touch left him again. His eyes focused back on Daryl’s face just as the man twirled his tongue on his fingertip, tasted it, sucked it deep in his mouth, cheeks hollowed, eyes glued on Rick. 

His conscious mind didn’t know how to feel about this, but his body had no qualms. His dick was so hard it hurt, and his hole twitched and tingled, craving _something_ to fill it up.

Rick had no idea what he was saying until he heard the words. Heard the _sound_ of his words -- the low purr. 

“You like it?”

 _No! Shouldn’t I say_ **_no_** _, that’s just not_ **_done_** _, how can you_ **_do_ ** _that, isn’t that, y’know…_

“‘s not bad,” Daryl replied. He leaned over to take the bottle and flicked it open, poured the liquid on his fingers. “Wanna try that some more. But later. ‘cause I have something else in mind for tonight, an’ I ain’t gonna last long enough if I keep tastin’ ya.”

He pushed a finger slowly in. Rick let out a trembling breath and relaxed. Pushed back just a little. He was turned on beyond belief because of all that had happened, all that was going to happen in a few minutes, and all that might happen _(Jesus...Daryl couldn’t mean what Rick thought he meant?!)_ in some near future.

And later, as Daryl slowly started to move inside Rick, and looked at him with such wonder in his eyes, and mashed his lips on Rick’s, and whimpered in his mouth, and shifted his hips and found the perfect angle, and lighting bolts crackled through Rick’s body, and Daryl shuddered and tensed and relaxed and Rick’s cum spurted on their skins… and even later, as Rick lay on the bed sated and content and aching in the absolute best way and Daryl’s head was resting on his shoulder…

...yeah, Rick still had no explanation why he’d been such a goddamn idiot that he hadn’t _begged_ and _pleaded_ this of Daryl earlier. He’d wanted this since that first night together at the farm but he’d been content to wait for Daryl’s initiative. _Moron_ , his brain scolded him and shook its head.

“Was it ok?” Daryl sounded drowsy and not really very worried. 

“What a stupid question,” he said, and kissed the man on the top of his head. “It was awesome. _You’re_ awesome. I loved it. I love _you_.”

Daryl snuggled closer.

***

The next day, to keep his mind off Beth, Hershel immersed himself in the bookshelves. They’d pretty much read every novel there was, but they’d been remarkably stupid in not sorting through the non-fiction. ‘Stupid’ was exactly the word Hershel used, when he dropped a few colorful books on the living room table in front of Rick. 

“We almost missed these,” he said, the reproach in his tone aimed at himself as well as everyone else. “Daryl thought these people were survivalists. Stands to reason weapons weren’t the only thing they armed themselves with.”

Rick leaned over to check the titles. Native American Herbs, Medicinal Plants, Folk Medicine… He glanced at Hershel who recognized the doubt in Rick’s eyes.

“Look, we have to be prepared for the worst. Just in case. If the government is truly down, if the infrastructure as we knew it is no more, then the day will come -- and it will come sooner than we’d like to think -- that modern drugs run out. Then we’ll be back to the 19th century, and we have to make do with what we can make ourselves. These books can help. We have to start collecting information that can help us in _this_ reality.”

Rick picked up a book and flipped through it. He hadn’t thought about this at all, and it was a terrible mistake. Thank God for Hershel and his worry about Beth!

He chewed on his lip. “Maybe we should check the houses for useful books. Medical stuff, obviously, but other kinds of information as well.”

“Building stuff,” Carl piped in. “I mean, electrical things. The wind turbines, y’know. What if they break down?”

“Food production,” added Maggie, who’d been in a horrible mood ever since Beth left with the others. 

They made a list of things they’d need to search for, and the subject kept them busy most of the day. It didn’t mean Hershel or Maggie forgot their worry, but it helped them push it aside.

Well before sunset, the team returned, Beth’s cheeks flushed and eyes gleaming with pride. They brought backpacks full of foodstuffs, and after a quick inventory Rick confirmed they could stay for another two weeks. Carol listened with interest to their plans about the books, and rolled her eyes to herself, not having thought of the idea before. 

Rick and Daryl took a stroll outside later in the evening; Rick wanted to hear about the run and Beth’s performance in private. Daryl wasn’t one for sugarcoating, and he’d told Hershel the girl “had done ok”, so she must have, but that was hardly the whole story.

“Nah, it’s pretty much the whole story,” Daryl said, as Rick asked him. “She takes orders well, she ain’t a wuss, she can keep her mouth shut. The only thing I gotta say is, she’s too rash. Sticks her neck out too much. She’s got balls, I’ll give ya that, but she don’t got the muscle to back that up. Gotta keep an eye on her, but me and Carol, we talked about this already on the way back, we’ll sort this out. She’ll work out just fine.”

He dug out his last pack of cigarettes and gave it a forlorn look. “Gotta start rationing these things.”

Rick nudged him and smiled. “I know. It’s a tragedy. I feel for you. How _will_ you manage a set of healthy lungs. The amount of suffering ‘cause of the walkers -- it’s just awful.”

He chuckled at the giant scowl Daryl gave him.

“I get a feelin’ my boss ain’t sympathetic to his subordinate’s pain an’ sufferin’. That’s just nasty. Almost makes me rethink about tellin’ him what we noticed today, on the run.”

“Your boss is full of remorse, and your lover promises to make up for this traumatic experience,” Rick quipped and waggled his eyebrows. Then he grew serious. “So what is it?”

“It was Beth’s idea. She’s useful, well worth trainin’. So, she got it in her head that she’d go up to the roof of one of them houses, to have a better look around, like at the farm. Don’t know why I didn’t think of that, but whatever, that’s why I got a team an’ ya got that stupid committee.” (“Isn’t stupid!” “It’s a _committee_ , for fuck’s sake! Gotta figure out another name one of these days… A _committee_ , good Lord…”) “Well, anyhow, she took the binoculars and climbed up, and by the sound of it almost slipped and broke her neck and I still get the shivers just thinkin’ about tellin’ that to Hershel… Anyhow, she saw a group of houses maybe five miles east. Three, four houses crammed close together, a few barns or sheds or some shit like that close by. She saw no movement, no cars, no nothing.”

“You’re suggesting we take a look at them?”

“Could be worth it. So many houses could mean another few weeks here. We could consider leaving after. It would take us well into spring, it would be warmer, easier for Lori, an’ it wouldn’t be too late for her either, and four weeks altogether would be great for Maggie.”

Rick rubbed his chin, scratched his short stubble, and thought hard, calculated the days. Hershel still tried to keep up with the passage of days and weeks, and Rick was vaguely certain they were now somewhere in the mid-February. Four more weeks would take them to mid-March; Lori would be six months pregnant or thereabouts.

It would be perfect. It would be worth the risk. He made his decision.

“We’ll talk about this in the next meeting but here’s how it’s gonna go. We’ll wait a week, we’ll take short runs to the community houses and check the books in the meanwhile. And I’ll go, too, I gotta start using my leg more, and the nearby houses are perfect for it. Hershel said three more days and that was two days ago.”

Daryl lit a cigarette, inhaled, exhaled, and looked at him through the swirling tendrils of smoke. “Ya ain’t plannin’ what I think you’re plannin’.”

“Sure I am. It’s gotta be five, six miles to those houses, on foot, so it’ll be a full day’s trip. Beth didn’t see anything but it doesn’t mean the place is empty, so I want you to take a bigger group, just to be safe. An’ I want to come with you this time.”

Daryl smoked in silence for a long time. He grunted. Rick took that as a yes.

  
  



	20. To the Boiling Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's something for the weekend -- the second to last chapter of this story.
> 
> And about that... I almost made it. Twenty chapters published according to the promised schedule, and then I go an' fuck up the last one :(  
> The last chapter is written maybe half-way. I'm on a vacation with my kids and my sis this week, so I haven't had as much time for writing as usually. I'm *maybe* able to get the whole thing written by Monday, but then there's the editing, the beta work, and the fixes I might need to make based on my beta's comments... there's no way I can keep to the schedule and get the thing published on Monday :( Also, I really like this story, and I want to give my best effort to it, not just scrape up something to keep to the schedule.  
> So, please forgive me :( I'm pretty sure I can get the last chapter out during next week, so the delay won't be too bad... Still, I'm sorry.

A week later, the weather had turned. All the snow had melted, and in the places the sun hit without obstacle, the ground was slippery with mud, whereas in shadowy spots there were still unpleasant batches of ice. They trudged through woods, skirted the fields, slunk over roads for hours, quiet and watchful. 

Rick tried to control his mood but there was no getting around it: he felt great! After weeks of being cooped up in the house he was finally in action again. It felt good to be out here again -- not running for his life, half-starved and desperate, but simply on a scouting trip with a bunch of good people, well-fed and rested, with no acute catastrophe in sight.

Sharp and vigilant, his eyes roamed the surroundings; he didn’t need to waste energy on watching his team members. He was acutely aware of them, however. Daryl to the left of him, silent and ghostlike as usual. Shane walked on the far left, and Rick felt a pleasant warmth in his belly, thinking of the way Daryl had accepted his suggestion. This was the first time Daryl had taken the man in his group, and Rick knew how hard it had been for the hunter. Rick hadn’t insisted -- this was something he didn’t want to dictate. The teams were about trust, and that was something you couldn’t force. Rick had, in fact, been surprised that Daryl had acceded. The hunter had picked up on his surprise, of course he had, with the thing they had between them. 

“I trust _you_ ,” he’d just said, and that had been that.

On his right, there was Carol, almost as silent as Daryl. There was something about the woman Rick still didn’t quite get. A certain level of ruthlessness which sometimes let itself peek through chinks in Carol’s armor. It didn’t make Rick appreciate the woman any less, though. She was practical, sensible, resilient, and the fact was that if Daryl was Rick’s second-in-command, Carol was the third.

Close behind Carol, Glenn walked with his calm, measured steps. The good-humored, efficient young man would always hold a special place in Rick’s heart -- he’d saved Rick, effectively been the reason Rick had found his family. Found his new family, too, by extension. Found Daryl. 

And then there was Beth, far right, with her springy stroll, almost bouncing on the mud-slippery ground. She’d been on every run since the first longer one, and had begged and pleaded to have a place on this one too. “I _found_ this place,” she’d insisted. “You guys didn’t even think to climb on the roof!”

Daryl had given her the place even if he wasn’t happy about it, Rick knew that. But they had wanted six people on the team, and a few good fighters had to stay back at the house to defend it from any attacks. So, he’d entrusted the house to Andrea and T-Dog, and had grudgingly said yes to Beth.

The walk took hours, and it was noon when the team finally reached the outskirts of the cluster of houses. Shane whispered something to Daryl, who nodded and paid no more attention to him. Rick saw his former friend veer to the left and slink behind a group of sheds. The others walked on cautiously, stopped for a moment at the corner of the first house to take one final careful look, and then they entered the large clearing in front of the main house. There was still no sound, and nothing moved.

Then everything went to hell. As if by magic, a dozen men emerged from the house and from behind it, all with rifles and handguns pointed firmly at Rick’s group. Rick and the others had their guns pointing downwards, and in a split second Rick understood the reality of the situation, and shouted “Don’t shoot!” He sensed more than saw Daryl struggle with the command, muscles trembling against the instinct to aim and shoot, the rush of adrenaline making his thoughts crystal clear and piercing: _“Rick!”_

_“No. Wait. Be ready.”_

One of the men stepped forward, speaking into what looked like a walkie-talkie. Then he looked up at Rick. 

“Boss is gonna be here any second now. Let’s just wait, nice and easy, an’ nobody has to get hurt.” He smiled the suave smile of a poisonous mamba, and Rick knew they were in some serious trouble.

The man drawled on. “A nice little group ya got there. Any more of ya holed in somewhere? Plenty of room here, ya could all join us.”

Rick raised an eyebrow and gave a pointed look at the men, all holding them at gunpoint. The man chuckled.

“Oh, I get it. Sorry about that. Can’t be too careful these days. Ya got a pretty impressive weaponry yourselves, even the li’l ladies here.” The man turned his eyes to Rick’s right, at Carol. “Ya sure ya can use that thing? Ain’t good if ya shoot your toes off.” The men around them chuckled.

Rick was surprised to hear a meek voice mutter trembling words. “Dunno… it’s dangerous out there...gotta try anyway. Ain’t enough men in our group as you can see.”

Rick snuck a glance at Carol. Her shoulders were hunched and the rifle dangled inexpertly in her hands. She looked down, wouldn’t meet the stranger’s gaze. Rick turned his head a fraction of an inch to see how Beth was faring. Goddamn them all, why had they brought the girl along, he thought desperately, when he saw Beth’s eyes, huge and terrified. She was biting her lip and her jaw was trembling, and she held her gun like a wet sock, and Rick wondered how it hadn’t already slipped through her fingers.

He could see how this might happen with Beth, but Carol..? What had caused this collapse?

They heard the roar of an engine, and soon three SUVs stopped in the clearing. Seven men got out, among them a lanky guy in his fifties. Rick heard a breathy _“Fuck…”_ in his mind. Fuck indeed.

“Well, well, well…” the man said, and walked to the other man and let his gaze drift over Rick’s group. He glanced at the other man. “Where did you find these?”

The man laughed. “We didn’t. They just marched in here on their own. Joe noticed them from the roof a while ago and gave the alert.”

The lanky guy -- Lenny, if Rick’s memory served him right -- looked back at the group. “So it’s kinda like a home delivery service. Very convenient.”

More laughter.

“Seems like we get to have a real party tonight, what with the one we brought back. It’ll be a few hours til the rest of us get here, an’ then we can start. There’s more of you?” He shot the question at Glenn. 

The young man gave a weak “No”, and Lenny snorted.

“Yeah, that’s what this lady said as well,” the other man nodded at Carol.

Lenny shook his head. “There doesn’t seem to be much fight in them. They still got their guns an’ all, an’ nobody’s shootin’ at nothin’. Ain’t that just a little uninspirin’.”

He walked to Rick who met his eyes calmly.

“An’ who are you, if I may ask?” Lenny inquired with a fake smile on his face.

“Rick,” he just said.

“Well, _Rick_ , you don’t have much fighting spirit in your people. What’s that about? Whipped it off them? Or not much of it to start with?”

The man didn’t wait for an answer, but continued his inspection and stopped to study Daryl. “A crossbow? Really? Why don’t you just go around throwing sticks at them biters?” he quipped, very satisfied with his wit, and his men laughed.

“‘s silent,” Daryl answered in a morose, muted voice.

“ _‘s silent_ ,” the man parroted mockingly. “And these are people who’ve survived? Oh, the humanity…”

Again, more laughter.

Lenny passed by Glenn, strolled in front of Carol and stopped to look at her. Carol flinched and tried to avoid his gaze. 

The man put his index finger under Carol’s chin and forced her to look up. “I like this one. Me, I prefer older women. They know what to do.”

Waves of rage radiated from Daryl, and Rick had a sick feeling in his stomach as Lenny stopped to check at Beth. 

“This one’ll have a lot of use. Young, pretty, and docile.”

Rick felt like his brain would blow up from the sheer mindless fury as Daryl’s thoughts erupted like a volcano. The hunter exuded murder.

Lenny strolled back to the three men and stopped very close to Rick. He twirled his finger in Rick’s hair and turned to leer at his men. He glanced back at Rick. “Personally, you don’t do much for me, but them pretty curls are sure to attract attention tonight. It takes all sorts to keep my boys happy.”

Now Rick’s head really hurt; Daryl’s wrath had dropped to the still chill of absolute zero. 

_“Daryl…”_ he implored. _“Calm down. Please. We’ll figure out something. Just...be ready.”_

He thought about Shane. Had he been captured already? Lying somewhere with a knife in his brain? But surely the men would’ve said something, so the fact that they hadn’t...? Rick clung to the faint hope. They still had their guns, and if Shane was alive… 

Then he remembered Carol and Beth, and Glenn’s odd reaction, and he realized they weren’t six against nineteen. More like three against nineteen. Well, they’d go down fighting, nevertheless. He wouldn’t let these men touch Carol and Beth, even if it killed him. _And it will_ , he thought darkly.

Lenny strolled back beside the other man and faced the group.

“You listen to me now, an’ listen good. We’re always on the lookout for strong fighters who might fit in with my group. But the thing is, ya gotta earn your place. Ya gotta have the right attitude. So ya fight for your place, show what ya are, man against man, and the winner can join us and the loser…” Lenny shrugged. “...well. We don’t need no losers.”

He leered at Beth and Carol. “And them ladies, they have their own way to earn their place. Trial runs, that sorta thing.” Lenny’s men whooped and wolf-whistled. “Gotta say, the fights will go nice an’ even. Three men, plus the one we found. Two sets.” He rubbed his hands together. “This’ll be a fun evening.”

Somebody strolled out the house and stopped to lean on the porch post, picking at his teeth with a toothpick. Lenny’s group didn’t pay him much attention, he was one of their own after all, but Rick noticed him slowly starting to pay more attention to Rick’s people. The man frowned.

 _Oh my God…_ Rick got the situation just as the man opened his mouth.

“Hey, Nick..!”

The man standing by Lenny turned to look at the man.

“Joe?”

“That one guy not breathin’ anymore?”

Rick didn’t see Nick’s face but he guessed he was frowning.

“What one guy?”

“I mean… I’m almost sure… I counted four guys and two gals.”

Nick’s head snapped towards Rick. He had just time to see the alarm and anger glint in Nick’s eyes, and then the man didn’t have eyes anymore. His head dissolved in splinters of bone and shreds of brain, and some of it hit Lenny’s face. Three more shots rang out in a quick succession, three more men dropped to the ground, and even though Lenny’s men were capable enough, they weren’t cut out for this, and Rick’s group had the break Rick had been waiting for. 

Lenny was barely two feet from him, and he was the first one to get Rick’s knife straight in his throat. Daryl’s voice snarled in his mind. _“Thank you.”_

_“My pleasure.”_

Rick’s second task was to somehow get Carol and Beth to safety but once again he was destined to be surprised by them.

Carol sprang to action like a coiled viper, and had shot two men before Lenny even hit the ground. The three men close to Beth learned very quickly that the girl knew quite adequately how to hold her gun, and they tried to run for cover behind a car. Beth, bless her, wasn’t much of a shot, but she added to their firepower and to the confusion of Lenny’s people. 

Rick dove behind one the SUVs and started picking off the men, one by one. Lenny’s guys weren’t cowards, they fought well, but they had just lost their leaders right in front of their eyes, and they were probably too used to being invincible, having the upper hand, and so they wasted precious seconds adjusting to the new situation. Rick’s people, however, were used to being the underdog, and at this point, each one of them had all the tenacity and sheer stubborn bloody-mindedness of an irritated terrier.

Daryl didn’t leak thoughts anymore, his mind was a closed block of ice, and Rick almost, _almost_ , felt sorry for the other group. Then the jeers and the leers, the laughs and the wolf-whistles echoed in his head again and, like a brush of a ghost, he felt Lenny’s repulsive finger in his hair, and saw it force Carol’s head up, and he aimed and took out another one of Lenny’s men.

And he felt better, having done that.

 _Fine. I’ll schedule another discussion with Daryl,_ his thoughts wry and grim. _Because right now I really don’t feel at all bad about killing people. I feel_ **_good_ ** _about it. And if that makes me less than a human, so be it._

The monster within stretched and purred. 

_I’m using you_ , Rick realized, suddenly not so afraid of the beast anymore. _So_ _don’t get cocky. After this is done, you go back to your cage, and you come out only when I let you._

He shot another man, and in his peripheral vision he saw Daryl and Shane circle the clearing, running at full speed to the side of the house. Shane continued to the back of it and Daryl scaled the fire escape ladder to the second floor, smashed the window, and edged himself inside. 

Rick heard him hiss a curse. _“Shit! Fuck! Got a shard in my ass! Rick, goddamnit, ‘m just tellin’ ya this now so ya can prepare yourself to not laugh when this is over. ‘cause man, ya laugh at this, you’re in deep shit.”_

Rick watched Glenn’s bullet hit a guy in the hip. His ears echoed with the shots but he thought he discerned some of them coming from the inside of the house. From the back of the house.

_“You just get your ass safely out of there, an’ I’ll take care of it back at the house.”_

_“This ain’t no time for flirtin’, man.”_ Daryl’s thoughts were tense and hurried, but there was a flicker of humor behind them.

In a few more minutes the shots died down. Shane walked around the corner; his palm was firmly pressed on his upper arm, but he had the trademark Walsh grin on his face.

“Had ourselves a regular O.K.Corral!” he shouted, and Glenn chuckled.

“‘s that so? An’ which one are you -- Doc Holliday or Wyatt Earp”? That was Daryl’s crabby voice. He limped out of the house, and Carol was immediately worried, and hurried towards her friend.

“You got shot, Daryl?”

Shane rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything, he just shook his head and kept on grinning, still high on adrenaline from the successful fight. Rick’s mouth twitched, amused at the uneven distribution of worry and pleased at Shane’s reaction to it. 

Daryl’s words came out in a low snarl; it was as if a growling rottweiler had learnt to speak. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with me, woman, just keep your eyes an’ hands to yourself.” 

He stepped down the porch stairs and couldn’t help grimacing at every stage. Carol raised her eyebrows. 

“Yes, I see you’re perfectly fine.” 

Her dry voice almost triggered a chortle out of Rick. The relief hit him; against all odds, they had made it. A few scrapes and wounds and potential nightmares about what their evening could’ve been -- but that’s all. Un-frickin’-believable! Rick felt like laughing out loud. Instead, he strode to Daryl and drew him in his arms and kissed the bejesus out of him right there and then.

Rick heard Shane comment to no-one in particular. “Yes yes, don’t mind me. I’ll just heroically bleed to death all by my lonesome while our illustrious leaders make out.”

Carol snorted. “Hang in there, hero, we’ll get you to Andrea soon enough. Rick? Yo, Daryl!”

The men broke the kiss, turned to Carol, and before she got a word out, Daryl said, “We know. We gotta get the hell outta here an’ quick. That asshole said there were more of them on their way. We gotta get back to the house an’ start packin’. ‘s not safe around here no more. A few of them got away. They’ll regroup, and then they’re gonna be out for blood.”

Shane, Carol and Glenn nodded their agreement. Rick decided to satisfy his curiosity, however; they could spare the ten seconds it would take.

“Where did you go, Shane? Did you get a bad vibe or something?”

To his surprise, both Shane and Daryl reacted to this. Shane let out a burst of laughter, and Daryl shook his head, bit his lip, but a snigger got out all the same.

“No man, none of that jedi shit. Would you believe we were saved by pee?”

Carol blinked. “Say again?”

“I had to go take a whizz, and I thought I’d be all discreet an’ shit, we have ladies present after all, so I thought I’d just stop behind those sheds. I told Daryl and went to take care of my business. Imagine my surprise when I heard those men pop up. Almost peed on my shoes, for fuck’s sake.”

Rick finally let out the relieved laughter that had been building up inside of him. Shane winked at him.

“I bet you’re sorry now, always mocking my...I believe you used the words ‘teeny weeny bladder’?”

“Come on Shane, it was a goddamn nuisance during patrol shifts. How was I supposed to know that it would save our asses during the end of the frickin’ world?” Rick’s voice was full of mirth, but suddenly something clicked in his mind and he frowned. His gaze swept over his team and the clearing.

“Where’s Beth?” 

***

Later, Rick would learn what had happened.

He would learn that as the shooting was dying down, Beth took it upon herself to go check the SUVs. She wanted to make sure no more bad guys were in them for any reason, planning a nasty surprise for the victorious group. 

Rick would learn that Beth remembered Lenny’s words, “the one we brought back”. She wanted to free that man, but she wasn’t a fool, she was careful. She circled the cars one by one, trying to see in through the tinted windows, knowing full well that the safe distance wouldn’t protect her from bullets, only from not getting slammed at with a door. She’d kept her eyes on the cars from the get-go, however, the clever girl, and she was pretty sure, _almost_ sure, that she’d seen no movement, at least not in the first two cars.

Rick would learn that Beth opened the doors cautiously, peeked in, tried to keep her breathing steady and the gun ready. She glanced at the rest of the group, gathered together in front of the porch, laughing. One more car, she thought, it’s gotta have the prisoner in there. 

What she wasn’t prepared for, though, was that the farside back door of that last car was already open, and a man -- crouching, trying to not be seen by the others -- was hurriedly creeping towards the sheds. Beth saw the man’s profile. She had second thoughts about letting the man go free. He didn’t look like the kind of guy she’d want roaming around, unchecked.

***

“Where’s Beth?”

The laughter died instantly. Carol and Glenn twirled around and strode over the clearing just as they all heard Beth’s clear voice shout, “Hey, you, stop! No!! Stop or I’ll shoot!”

They heard a growl and a shot and an angry cry and Beth’s indignant voice. “I _said_ I’d shoot!”

They all started running towards the sheds; even Daryl hobbled along, the shard momentarily forgotten in his worry about the young woman. 

But before they had got past the cars, one more shot reverberated in the still, crisp air. 

And it did not come from Beth’s gun.

Shane stumbled. Rick heard Daryl’s terrified shout behind him.

“Watch out!”

They span around, almost tripping over their own feet in their alarm. And at first Rick thought Shane had done just that, taken a wrong step, slipped on the mud.

Everything slowed down. Rick took it all in: Carol and Glenn raising their guns, aiming them, shooting. A man, sitting against a tree, wounded earlier, and they’d thought he’d died, what with the blood oozing from his chest. Their mistake, and they rectified it too late. Daryl’s bullet was the first to hit the man, but Carol and Glenn weren’t far behind. Rick’s Python was in his hand, but he couldn’t shoot, he couldn’t, because now he understood Shane hadn’t just tripped.

He wasn’t moving at all.

Blood whooshed in Rick’s ears. He crouched down and touched the man, saw the hole in Shane’s jacket, saw the blood. His mind was a blank, he didn’t want to comprehend what he saw. He grabbed Shane’s shoulder and pulled him over.

 _Oh God…_ Rick stopped breathing for a second.

Shane’s chest was a mess of blood and bone. He was bleeding hard, and Rick put his hands over the wound, felt the heart’s desperate effort to keep pumping the lifeforce into Shane’s limbs, but it was all coming out, pushing past Rick’s fingers. 

Rick’s eyes were hazy with tears. He blinked and blinked, he heard Carol’s whispery “Oh, oh, oh my God…”, he saw Glenn drop to his knees and try to help him block the bleeding. Daryl’s rumble reached his ears.

“‘m sorry, Rick… the first thing we shoulda done, we shoulda go put a knife through them all…”

Rick’s thoughts stumbled around. _Always, always the same regrets. If only, if only… Always the same._

He felt Shane’s breath stutter under his hands. He heard the faintest voice whisper, “Rick…”

His eyes flicked over to Shane’s in half a second. Shane’s eyelids fluttered, fought to open. Rick didn’t know what to say. 

What did you say, in a situation like this? How did you say to someone who you’ve loved like a brother most of your life, that his chest was ripped open and there was nothing you could do to save him? What did you say to him, only seconds after you’ve joked with him about the old times, for the first time after so many months of distrust and disappointment and indifference that you couldn’t even count them any more?

What was there to say?

“Rick…” Shane forced the whisper through his lips.

Rick shook his head and tried to smile.

“Don’t talk. You’ll just…” He didn’t know how to continue that sentence.

“What, die a second sooner?” The man wouldn’t bow down even on the threshold of death. He’d be _Shane_ to the end.

“Rick, I’m sorry…” He coughed. Rick felt sick, seeing blood gush from his mouth.

“No, _I’_ m sorry. This shouldn’t have happened. If only we’d…” His voice broke. He felt Daryl’s hand grasp his shoulder, give silent support.

“No, no...just...want to tell ya...go to the fuckin’ pearly gates with a clear conscience, or some shit…”

Shane’s words tumbled out, almost unintelligible through the short, shallow breaths.

“Back at the farm… Otis…”

Rick closed his eyes for a second. Lori had hinted at this. So it had been true after all. 

Not that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind -- he’d just pushed it away and concentrated on his son. Carl was alive, whatever had happened in that school. Carl was alive because of it. He had locked all his doubts deep, deep in his mind; he’d convinced himself it was just a doubt. That Lori’s words had been just another dose of the poison she’d so freely poured into his ear back at the farm.

He opened his eyes and looked at Shane’s dimming eyes.

“I know, Shane.”

He didn’t get to say anything else. The last of the light went out in Shane’s eyes. There was no dramatic shudder of the last breath, no meaningful last words. It all just...shut down. One second, the cocky Walsh was there -- the next, there was nothing but the soulless husk.

And Rick had one last service to offer him. He slid his knife from the sheath, looked at it, and braced himself.

“I can do it,” Daryl said in a soft voice. Rick just shook his head. The hunter squeezed his shoulder. He understood.

Glenn and Carol watched them, eyes huge, tears welling even though there’d never been much love lost between Shane and those two. But the man had been a force of nature, and they felt the loss painfully.

Rick breathed deep, in and out, and pushed the blade through Shane’s temple.

He put his hand on his face. He needed that small illusion of privacy, and tears poured out, finally, he didn’t want to fight them anymore, he’d…

Beth’s bright voice cut slowly through the haze. Rick had a hard time understanding such brightness still had a place in this world. And how was Beth only just now walking towards them? Hadn’t this taken hours, days, weeks?

Later, Rick would learn it had taken two minutes, if that. 

Beth came around the cars, a man walking in front of her, hands tied up with a rope. Her voice rang clear and pure like a bell. “What’s going on? Someone still alive or what? Look what I found--- Oh God, what happened!”

Rick’s eyes were blurry with tears. The strange man’s figure swam in his eyes. He raised his hand to wipe them clear just as he heard the quick intake of breath from Carol and Glenn, and felt Daryl’s grip on his shoulders loosen and let go as the man took a few uncertain steps towards the newcomer. Daryl’s voice was shaky.

“Merle?”

  
  



	21. Bonds Reform

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over a week has passed, and still no "final chapter" -- as you can see, I've once again changed the total nbr of chapters (21->22). I'm all out of apologies for my complete and utter incapability to correctly estimate how long & how many words it takes me to tell this story.  
> This is a *long* chapter -- I do hope you like it :) I'm working on the next one, which will -- this time, hopefully!!! -- actually be the last one :D

“Merle?”

Daryl’s voice was thick with disbelief. Rick’s eyes cleared up, and what he saw was like a badly set scene in a cumbersome tragedy. All the clichés were there:

…..the slack-jawed spectators, witnessing the tragedy and the plot twist unfold,

…..the bloody body of the hero’s childhood friend,

…..the hero, on his knees, hands covered in his friend’s blood,

…..the hero’s lover, abandoning the hero in his greatest hour of need, because…..

…..the long-lost, vitriolic older brother had just appeared as if by magic.

The stage trembled underneath Rick and he couldn’t understand how this had happened. Shane was gone, Merle was alive -- how was any of this real?

Rick missed the warmth of Daryl’s hand on his shoulder, the solid presence of the hunter by his side.

“Daryl? Baby bro! Goddamnit! Fuck! You’re alive!” Merle’s voice was wheezy with excitement. He seemed to have got his bearings quicker than any of the others. Daryl had taken a few steps forward but now stood rooted to the spot, and just stared at his brother.

Beth’s gaze flicked from Daryl to Rick to Shane to Glenn to Carol to the stranger she was holding at gunpoint.

“What’s going on?” she demanded. “Daryl, you know this man?”

Daryl gave a slow nod.

“Come on, bro, tell them who I am! Get me out of these ropes.” He extended his hands -- or a hand. The other one was...Rick gave it a blank look. It was some kind of a metal contraption. Whatever. He turned his gaze back to Shane.

Glenn stood up, shaking, hands dripping with Shane’s blood. There was a moment of complete silence. Hazily, Rick assumed everyone was staring at each other, trying to figure out how the scene was supposed to go on. 

Merle’s scratchy voice broke the silence. “Hey, ain’t that the Chinese kid? Glenn? Is that Glenn?”

“Yep, that’s the Merle we know an’ love,” Glenn murmured. Louder, he answered, “Nope, still Korean. But yeah, it’s Glenn.”

“Ya still hangin’ out with these losers, Daryl? What’s with ya, hunh? Ain’t enough ya didn’t come for me, but ya still cling to the goddamn pussies who left me to die in the first place!”

Rick raised his head. He had to see the scene.

Merle glared at Daryl. Rick didn’t see Daryl’s face but the way he stood spoke volumes. His back too straight, shoulders rigid, and the hand that had gripped Rick’s shoulder so lovingly just moments ago was now a white-knuckled fist.

Merle’s eyes turned to Carol. “Do I know this one? Which of them bitches is that? Or is it a new one? Ya finally got yourself a woman, baby bro? About time, too. Was losin’ my hope about ya, Daryleena…”

Beth’s jaw dropped. If Rick’s hands hadn’t been sticky with Shane’s blood, if he hadn’t been reeling from the shock and the loss, he would’ve found it truly hilarious. The poor girl simply couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that the rough-looking stranger was talking to Daryl in this way. Daryl, who Beth looked up to, and liked, and who was kind of her boss, too. 

Rick didn’t laugh, but Beth’s consternation did snap him out of his shock. The dead Shane would have to wait. The alive Merle would have to be dealt with first.

Carol’s cold voice cleared his head even more. “Good ol’ Merle. Always such a joy. Oh, I’m one of them old bitches.”

Merle frowned. “Ya can’t be the mousy wuss?”

Carol gave him a wide grin, frosty and insincere. “So glad I made an impression!”

“Well ain’t this a fuckin’ miracle! Apocalypse suits ya, lady!” And Merle rounded off his elegant statement with a low whistle and a lingering look up and down Carol’s figure.

Rick stood up slowly, took a few steps and stopped at Daryl’s side. He concentrated hard on keeping his thoughts as calm as possible. 

_“What do you want me to do?”_ he asked. He could only guess at the feelings rushing around Daryl’s mind. Was he glad to see his brother? Was he...upset to see his brother? The forty years of Merle weren’t just under his skin anymore -- the man was standing right there, mouthing off, back to scratching and rattling the walls of Daryl’s self-esteem.

He sensed how the hunter forced his muscles to relax. His thoughts were tense and flustered. _“I don’t… Just… Just don’t go anywhere, ok?”_

“Oh. Shit. That’s the goddamn cop! Daryl, that’s the motherfuckin’ cop who cuffed me to the roof! Ya mean you’ve been cozyin’ up to the asshole who tried to kill your brother? Fuck, Daryl, how could ya do this to me? How’s that son of a bitch still breathin’?”

Merle was enraged and spluttering. He took a few quick steps closer and raised his arms, a palm squeezed into a beefy fist. He stopped just as quickly when the sound of safety catches reached his ears. And if that wasn’t enough, the sight of Daryl’s raised crossbow really took the wind out of his sails.

Rick heard the squish of steps in the muddy yard. He saw Glenn settle firmly on his side, and Carol take her place beside Daryl. Merle sneered at the sight.

“‘s that so, li’l brother? What did that cop do to ya to make ya turn against your own flesh an’ blood? He hand out that piece of pussy to ya?” Merle jerked his head towards Carol. “Goddamnit Daryl, where’s your pride? Ya forget you’re a Dixon?”

Daryl had had enough. “Shut your trap, Merle. Enough! You got five guns pointin’ at ya, can’t ya take a hint? I ain’t gotta listen to that shit no more, an’ if ya got anything else to say about Rick or Carol, just zip it. Nobody’s interested. Ya wanna get rid of that rope, ya keep your _fuckin’ mouth shut!_ ”

Rick barely remembered what an infuriated Daryl sounded like. He had heard Daryl shout in anger at the farm. Since then...no, not like this. The hunter bellowed the last words, blue eyes striking lightning bolts at Merle. 

Rick felt the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth. This was probably the first time in Daryl’s entire life when he had love and concrete support against the toxic radiation from his brother. But they weren’t out of the woods yet: it wasn’t backbone Daryl was lacking -- he had plenty of it, that wasn’t the issue. The problem was he had fuck-all _practice_ in not letting Merle affect him, one way or the other. 

But Daryl had help now, he had friends, he had a new family, a whole new _life_ , and Merle might just find that it wouldn’t be so easy to keep his li’l bro in line anymore. 

Merle breathed hard and seemed to wage an inner war. At the blink of an eye, the fist opened, the shoulders relaxed, and Merle flashed a toothy grin.

“Come on, bro, don’t be like that… you know ol’ Merle, always waggin’ my tongue...don’t mean nothin’ by it… Nice to meet y’all again, an’ this li’l lady,” he turned to Beth, “we haven’t been introduced. Merle Dixon, at your service.”

Beth blinked. The older Dixon was just a bit much for her. “I...I’m Beth.”

“Ain’t that a lovely name. Pleased to meet ya.” Merle turned back to Daryl. “Now that we’re all friends, how about ya take these off.” Once again, he extended his arms.

Merle played his part in such an extravagant manner that Rick followed the show, speechless, fascinated by the sheer nerve of the man. Loath as he was to see any similarities between the two brothers, he now conceded at least one: resilience -- Merle with his bluster and cunning, Daryl with the quiet, neverending determination.

“Rick?” Daryl glanced at him. 

Rick saw an annoyed expression flash over Merle’s face, and guessed the man was itching to spit out his opinion about the way Daryl deferred to Rick.

“A word, please,” he said in a low voice, and turned to walk towards the house. “Keep an eye on him,” he added to the others, as Daryl limped slowly behind him.

“I’m sorry, Rick,” Daryl blurted out when they stopped.

Rick was puzzled. “No reason to be sorry. Merle’s a problem, and we have to decide what to do with him, but he is your brother and I’m not sorry to see he’s alive. You know I always felt bad about Atlanta. I had to stop him, but the stuff that happened later-”

“I don’t mean Merle. He’s an asshole, sure, an’ he’s gonna bring a fuckin’ shitstorm to the group, but he ain’t, y’know, evil an’ shit. No, I meant Shane. I’m so sorry.” And in their silent way, he sent out a thought like a gentle caress, _“I’m so sorry, darlin’... I know it was better, you an’ him, these past weeks… It was a mistake, not checkin’ the corpses, I should’ve-”_

“You’re wounded, and so was Shane. If it was anybody’s fault, it was mine. But I’m not looking for someone to blame. I’m just...just sad.” 

He continued, _“Thanks, hon.”_ He paused for a second. _“I’d really need to kiss you right now, but I guess it’s better if I don’t.”_ He tried to keep the wary tone in check, but it’s hard to do with thoughts.

“Ya think I’m gonna back out of us ‘cause of Merle?” Daryl asked in a flat voice. “That’s what ya think of me?”

Rick swallowed. Oooooh fuck, was he in trouble…

“I…” He didn’t get very far.

“Well, I ain’t goin’ nowhere. I’ve told ya that before, an’ that ain’t changed.” He glanced at his brother who was clearly trying to chat the others up. “It’s just… Merle’s...well, shit, you _see_ how he is. I just thought maybe _right now_ we have more important issues at hand than to handle the god-awful temper-tantrum my homophobic asshole of a brother will throw when he finds out the other Dixon brother is a fag, the lowest lifeform on planet Earth. So I’d rather we wait until we get back to the house, ok?”

Rick nodded slowly. “We can take Merle with us but you gotta talk to him. He can’t be like...like _that_ at the house. I won’t let him disturb the family thing we got going there, I hope you can understand that. If he can control his mouth, we can make this work. If not...Daryl, I hope he does, ok?”

Daryl sighed. “I get it. He ain’t the easiest to be around. An’ our group...the way we were and the way we’re now, it’s gonna take some gettin’ used to it for him.”

Rick glanced at the others, at the cars. “We’ll take two SUVs. We gotta get back to the house quickly, before the rest of the group gets here. And you’re hurt, you can’t walk back like that, Hershel’s gotta take a look at the wound. The shard still in?”

Daryl grimaced. “I yanked the big one out but I bet there’s still some tiny ones. Ain’t gonna be a fun ride, that’s for sure. Better than the walk would be, though. We slash the tires of the other cars. Maybe they can change them but at least it’ll slow them down some.” Daryl looked at Rick. “What about Shane?”

“We don’t have time to bury him here. An’ anyway, I want to take him to the house. Maybe figure out some kind of a funeral. I think Andrea, Lori, Carl… they’d like to say their goodbyes.”

Daryl threw caution to the wind and brushed Rick’s arm gently. “We can do that.” He glanced at the others again. “But we gotta get going now.”

They heard a growl. One of Lenny’s men had started moving; its limbs were twitching and it let out another growl. Rick’s smile was dark.

“The rest of their people will have a nice welcoming party to meet them when they come here. Get everybody to the cars, now.”

***

Shane’s body thumped on the SUV floor as the car hit a bump on the road. Rick needed to get his mind on something else, badly. He glanced at Carol by his side and at Beth through the rear-view mirror.

“What was the meek-and-mild show back there about?”

He heard a soft snigger from the backseat. Carol’s mouth twitched.

“Just something me and Daryl cooked up a while ago.”

Rick’s eyebrows shot up. “You had a plan for something like that?”

Carol snorted. “You know Daryl -- he doesn’t much care about PC, he’s all about practical politics. He pointed out that I’m not too shit with the rifle -- his words, not mine. I’m a skinny little thing -- again, his words -- and no good in a hand-to-hand combat. Which is a fair assessment, I suppose. So, he said, if shit hits the fan, we could use my looks to our advantage, make the stereotypes work in our favor. An element of surprise, he said. The meek, middle-aged woman with a weapon she barely knows how to hold, y’know.”

Rick glanced at Beth through the mirror. “Did Beth just figure the ruse out back there or..?”

“It was actually _because_ of Beth that we started to take the plan seriously.” Carol cackled and turned her head to smirk at her. “She’s much too daredevil for her own good. Not too shabby against the walkers but Daryl and I, we worried about people… she’s good with her knife but against guys twice her size, like today, well…”

“And Glenn?”

“He didn’t know. He’s fast, though, he just went with the flow.”

“You could’ve told me…”

“Yeah, true… Daryl probably had intended to. I guess he just forgot.”

Rick shook his head. “Nah, probably for the better. I ain’t much of an actor.”

He focused on the road again. Glenn was driving the car in front of him, and Rick wondered how Daryl was faring -- trying to talk sense into Merle.

The arrival at the house was something Rick didn’t ever want to experience again. The triple shock of Shane’s death, Merle’s “resurrection”, and the need to leave the house was a hard blow to the group. Merle was a little angel, thank God, and Rick could only imagine what kind of law Daryl had laid down to him to achieve that effect.

He had no time to ask him, either. They dug a shallow grave in the frozen ground, and laid yet another member of their group to rest. Andrea had always kept her distance from Lori, even before the farm; the chemistry between those two just didn’t work. But now, standing at Shane’s grave, the two women found some comfort in each other. Lori’s arm was wrapped around Andrea, and the blonde didn’t shake it off. 

Carl stood with his dad and Daryl. “It feels weird,” he said in a small voice. “I feel like it’s wrong to be sad. Y’know, because he did try to kill you. But I feel sad anyway, and then I feel bad about it. I’m sorry, dad.”

Rick hugged his son. “Don’t be. I’m sad, too. Shane went a little crazy back then. He did a horrible thing, not just to me but to Randall and-.” He stopped right there. Carl didn’t need to know about Otis. “-and to the whole group. But he was family for a very long time, and he did come around in the end. You have lots of good memories about him. It’s not wrong to remember the good stuff.”

Carl looked at Daryl. “Are you sad at all?”

The hunter hesitated. “‘m sad ‘cause you’re sad.”

Rick watched T-Dog take a few hesitant steps towards Lori. She turned to look at him, her face wet with tears, and nodded. He went and hugged her, and wound his arms around Andrea as well. 

Again, Rick wondered about their little group, all the complicated tendrils of friendship and romance and camaraderie which had sprouted and grown during the long months, and tied them all together. It takes every one of them to make a family. Maybe theirs wasn’t the most conventional one, but it worked.

Then he met Merle’s gaze, the suspicious look of the beady eyes, darting between him and Daryl. They hadn’t even noticed it, they’d become so used to it -- but it must’ve looked odd to Merle, his brother standing shoulder to shoulder with Rick. The leader didn’t want to risk aggravating the situation, so he nudged Daryl as inconspicuously as possible. “Merle’s looking,” he whispered.

Carl overheard it. “He doesn’t know? Well, that explains it…”

Rick kept forgetting the others knew Merle so much better than he did. They’d spent weeks with the Dixon brothers at the quarry. 

“Yeah an’ we wanna keep it that way for a li’l longer. We got more pressin’ problems to deal with now, we gotta pack an’ leave, an’ we gotta be efficient about it. I ain’t got the time or the fuckin’ inclination to listen to his shoutin’. Leavin’ here’s the main course -- let’s save Merle’s rants for dessert.”

Daryl’s tone was heavy with sarcasm. Usually, he tried to keep the cursing to a minimum when Carl was within earshot, so Rick knew the man was in a truly shitty mood. 

Carl understood it, and didn’t wisecrack or jokingly chastise him. Banter could wait, too.

***

Rick and Hershel’s exit plans came in handy that evening. The group had known they might have to leave in a week anyway, and during the past days they’d all started to pick up their stuff, almost reflexively, and pack them. The weeks of rest and peace hadn’t rid them of the wariness that seemed to have become a permanent part of their genetic make-up. The stash of supplies for a week on the road had been put together long ago, and it was checked regularly, just to make sure they’d be ready.

So, there was no panic, no whiny do-we-have-to’s. Just a grim, somewhat resigned efficiency. Everybody threw one last, fond look at the stove and the fridge, the showers and the water taps, the radiators and the trusty turbine humming away in its low tone. God knew how long it’d be until the next place with comforts which had been such a given less than a year ago. God knew if they’d _ever_ find anything so comfortable again. 

Although, in the privacy of his own mind, Rick had to admit that right now he could live with a little less running water and a little more absolute security. What he wouldn’t give for thick walls, sturdy fences, coils of barbed wire. 

They had four decent cars now, so they had plenty of room. Daryl rode the bike; Merle wasn’t happy about it but with the metal pipe he had for his right hand he couldn’t really ride one. He grumbled, but settled in one of the SUVs with Glenn and Hershel -- an all-male car was the only possibility for the likes of Merle, and Glenn and Hershel were the best equipped to handle him, patience-wise. Daryl had given a brief summary of his talk with Merle; the older Dixon had decided to stay with them, and Daryl had assured Rick that a loud mouth and bouts of bad temper would be the only dangers his brother would present. 

They would need to talk more, Daryl had said to him. “There’s somethin’ Merle ain’t tellin’. The guy’s a blabbermouth, so if there’s somethin’ he wants to keep to himself, it’s gotta be important as hell.” 

They had no way of knowing which way the rest of Lenny’s group was coming. They made a last-minute decision to drive to the houses on the other side of the field, to siphon the gas from the cars and to take a look at the cluster of houses from the roof. Beth climbed up there again and came back almost immediately.

“Five cars and a bus. School bus, I think. They’re there.”

“Fine. We’ll take the south-west route, then,” Rick said.

***

It was as if they’d been hit by a time warp. Back on the road, with no safe place or even an illusion of it. Scavenging food, sleeping wherever, fighting the occasional packs of walkers, dodging the groups of people they came by. It was as if the peaceful weeks at the house had never existed at all.

Rick swore to himself he’d never let them get so comfy again. You’d think that with a world run over by dead people you wouldn’t succumb to fantasies of permanence, but apparently you couldn’t fight the human nature. _We seek permanence and stability, and we cling to it without hesitation as soon as possible. We didn’t grow careless but we did get content, and that seems to be almost as dangerous._

Of course, it wasn’t all a time warp. 

Instead of a feisty fighter-Maggie, there was a semi-cripple Maggie, grouchy and short-tempered, and Hershel had to remind her every day that the more she tried to do, the slower she’d recover. They felt the lack of an active Maggie sorely -- she’d been fast and efficient and resourceful. Now she was the slowest one of them. “A liability,” as Maggie had snarled.

Instead of Shane, there was now Merle. One strong fighter changed to another strong fighter, but there the similarities ended. Shane had had his problems, which had made him surly and insolent and rude. Lori had mentally slapped him out of his fake homophobia, and time had given most of his original personality back: irreverent sense of humor, kindness, even chivalry. There’d been very little of a true bigot, racist, misogynist in Shane. 

Merle, however… Rick was ready to admit the man was strong, ballsy, clever even, and Rick had a hard time imagining Merle would ever intentionally lead Daryl to harm. Sure, Merle belittled him, and would probably smack him around some, because that was how he understood the meaning of ‘taking care of li’l brothers’. But Rick doubted Merle would ever sell Daryl out, or truly endanger his life. In his own horribly inadequate way, Merle was fiercely protective of his little brother.

That, however, was the extent of the good thoughts Rick could muster about the older Dixon. The past days had tried his patience, big time. That first night, they’d stopped to spend the night in a worn-down hovel. The others had started to lay down blankets and to prepare their little nests. Rick had frozen for a second, uncertain of how this would go for him. For months now, ever since the farm, he’d spent every single night in Daryl’s arms. Now what? 

A peeved growl cut into his thoughts. 

“Fuck this shit.” 

The hunter had appeared by his side, scowling, and obviously in a terrible mood. Rick raised a questioning eyebrow and got a glare in response. 

“What?” Rick asked as mildly as possible.

“My ass hurts. An’ not in a good way.”

Rick couldn’t help but snort. “Hershel didn’t give you any painkillers?”

“We’re runnin’ low on them as it is. ‘s just a few pieces of glass, he got them all out. I gotta say, it ain’t fun to ride a bike like this.”

Daryl mellowed a tiny bit as he was venting his irritation. Then he looked around the room.

“What’re ya standin’ here for? Go nest someplace.” He seemed to sense Rick’s hesitation and the glare returned hotter than ever. “I ain’t in the mood to take any shit from Merle. I ain’t in the mood to change the way we sleep, either. I’ve slept at your side for months now. Merle got a problem with that, he can go fuck himself.”

A wave of relief brushed over Rick, such a huge wave he was dizzy for a second. It was probably disproportionate to the situation but… their lives had turned upside down in a matter of hours. It felt good to know _something_ remained the same. Rick had been prepared to wait, let Daryl dictate the speed of this thing -- he knew his brother best, after all. Rick couldn’t help it though, he was glad Daryl wanted to handle this right now, come what may. Then it would be over, and Merle would have to learn to live with it.

Daryl chewed on his lip. He sighed, straightened his shoulders, and swore again. “Fuck this shit.” He glanced at Rick, jerked his head to Merle’s direction. “Come on, let’s introduce my boyfriend to my brother.”

Merle was setting his blankets in a corner as far from the others as possible in the small cottage. He scowled at the two men, then controlled his expression and gave them a tight, empty smile. 

“Daryl. Rick.” 

Rick nodded in acknowledgement. “Merle. Getting comfortable? We’ll arrange something to eat when we get everyone settled.”

Merle grunted. His eyes were on Daryl.

“Ya got somethin’ to say, li’l bro? Ya got that shifty look.” Merle’s gaze turned suspicious. “Why do I got the feelin’ I ain’t gonna like whatcha gonna say?”

Daryl forced a half-smile. “Probably not. I wouldn’t mind it if ya surprised me, I’d kinda like it if ya were happy for me. Ain’t gonna hold my breath, though.”

Merle’s eyes narrowed. “Cut the crap, bro. Spit it out.”

Words weren’t Daryl’s strongest asset even in the best of circumstances. Rick could just hear Daryl’s brain sort through the available selection, trying to choose a way which would give Merle minimal reason to go ballistic. Since that wasn’t humanly possible -- and Rick knew Daryl knew it -- the hunter went with short and sweet.

“I’m datin’ Rick.”

Later, Daryl would tell Rick that had been the first time in his over forty years on the planet that he’d made Merle speechless. It’d been oddly satisfyin’, he’d tell Rick, smirking.

Merle gaped at his brother. He moved his mouth but nothing came out.

“We’ve been together over four months,” Daryl went on. “This ain’t open for debate, so if ya got anythin’ else to say other than ‘I’m happy for ya’, ya can keep it to yourself. We just wanted ya to know, so it won’t hit ya all unexpected.”

Merle finally got his voice back. “My brother’s a fag?” he said, unbelieving. He turned his eyes to Rick. “Officer Friendly’s a fag? He do this to ya, Daryl? Turned ya into a fuckin’ pillow-biter?” Merle was finding his rhythm again. “Ya say them people are ok with ya two fuckin’ each other? What’s this, the queer convention? That’s...That’s un-American, that’s what it is!”

Rick couldn’t stop a chuckle. “Nationalities don’t mean shit anymore. There’s a handful of people alive anywhere -- the only borders are between the living and the dead.” He stopped the chuckle and gave Merle a hard look. “We expect you to get over yourself real quick about this. I will not listen to that kind of talk, and you may find that others have real short tempers about stuff like that too. Your brother’s a respected member of this group, and they won’t take kindly to your slurs.”

“Ya fuckin’ fairy, shut your filthy trap,” Merle snarled with a dangerous glint in his eyes. Rick sighed to himself. _Should’ve guessed this wouldn’t go smooth._

“Merle, ya wanna stay here, ya better learn to watch your mouth. Ya don’t wanna bother, then there’s the door,” Daryl said with a low, stiff voice. Waves of unhappiness reached Rick; Daryl didn’t want his brother to leave, but he didn’t want Merle to upset the balance of the group either. Hershel had his views on their relationship, but he never treated them with anything other than respect; the old man knew how to live according to the Golden Rule, after all. Shane had shut up about them all those weeks ago, and at some point even grown to accept them. Daryl’s narrow-minded loudmouth of a brother was a complication none of them needed now.

Merle stared at him. “Ya would throw out your own flesh an’ blood just to keep bendin’ over to a fuckin’ fairy cop?” 

Daryl stared back at him, then shook his head. “Whatever. Just remember what we told ya. Ya behave, ya can stay.”

He glanced at Rick and jerked his head towards the other side of the cottage. “Let’s get settled down?”

Rick smiled, paying no attention to Merle’s huffs. “Sure. You get the blankets, ok? I’ll check if there’s room near Carl.”

***

Merle didn’t miss a single opportunity to hiss nasty words at them. Rick treated those incidents like he’d treated Shane back when he’d been a pain in their asses -- namely, ignored the man. This, of course, further infuriated the older Dixon, and Rick’s patience was wearing thin, especially as they hadn’t had luck in finding a semi-decent place during the first five days. Daryl ground his teeth every time he came back from talking to his brother.

“He’ll come around,” Rick tried to convince him. “Or at least get bored with the subject.”

“Oh, my brother can be real persistent,” Daryl said with a grim tone.

They were doing a perimeter check at the small house they’d found for the night. Rick touched Daryl’s arm and stopped walking. He pulled gently and the other man turned towards him. Daryl’s eyes were pained and vulnerable. A small twitch of fear twinged in Rick’s belly.

“If this is too much…If you’re having second thoughts…” Rick didn’t know how to go on. He didn’t _want_ to go on.

“It’s a nightmare,” Daryl blurted. “Was it like this when Shane was bein’ an ass?”

The fear gave another tiny stab, but Rick forced himself to remain calm. “I think you have it worse. Shane had _just_ tried to kill me, it was a pretty good buffer. I didn’t really care about his rants, except that I hated that you had to hear it all. But Merle’s your brother. A big influence in your life. Forty years of Merle in your head, like you said before. It’s gotta be tough to listen to his...displeasure. I get it. I just... “ Rick didn’t want to put pressure on his partner. But he had to know.

“I just… Are you sure this thing between us is worth the crap Merle’s throwing at you?”

Daryl frowned. “What’re ya on about? Ya serious? I said it’s a nightmare. I _hate_ Merle’s crap. It fuckin’ _hurts_ , ok?! But I never said I want out of _us_. Seriously, Rick? Ya think I’m that stupid? With ya I have… Fuck! I don’t even have words for it! An’ ya seriously think a few fags an’ fairies from Merle’s gonna make me want to lose that?” 

The hunter shook his head, an angry frown still on his face. “An’ I’m no good at this shit. ‘m not good with words like you are. Merle’s always been better, an’ he’s goddamn quick with them too. I can’t keep up, an’ that makes me…” He ran his fingers through his hair, frustration apparent in his gestures. “...I dunno what it makes me.”

“Makes you feel helpless?” Rick suggested. 

Daryl took a quick step back and looked as if he was trying to physically push away the word 'helpless'. Rejection was his gut reaction to words like that. Rick saw that he quickly stopped to process it, though, he always did nowadays; he had grown used to treating suggestions as suggestions, not attacks on his personality, masculinity, intelligence.

He mulled over the concept for a few minutes, then gave a grudging nod. “Could be. It’s like I don’t got weapons for it. No walls or nothin’. Merle just keeps comin’, y’know.”

“You’ve stood your ground pretty well these past days.”

“I know.” 

Daryl’s quick agreement was a surprise to Rick. The hunter wasn’t one to give himself credit so easily, especially in matters of interpersonal relations. He went on.

“But ya don’t know...it’s fuckin’ _hard_.” He grimaced. “Merle has always had a way of makin’ me feel like a petulant kid. It ain’t easy to go against that.” He grimaced again. “Fuck, that’s sad. Makes ya wonder if Merle ain’t right about me-”

Rick cut right into that. “I don’t even want to know what you mean by that. I ain’t interested in your brother’s opinion about you -- I’ve formed my own, and so has everyone in this family. And the man we know is strong, kind, resourceful, brave, and clever. And our opinion overrules that of your brother’s.”

“An’ why’s that?” Daryl almost smiled.

“There’s more of us,” Rick answered primly. Daryl’s mouth twitched, amused. “Majority opinion, y’know. Democratic vote. It’s the American way, after all.” Rick smirked, and Daryl barked a short laugh. 

Rick got serious. “I get it, Daryl, I do. Family dynamics… they can be a bitch. I’ve been lucky, but there were times with Lori… she had a way with her...I never knew the right way to react, any which way I tried, it always turned out to be the wrong one... “ He shrugged. “But that’s in the past. I just mean I’ve got an inkling of the shit you’re facing with Merle.”

He drew the man in his arms and Daryl didn’t resist at all, their bodies moulded together and it wasn’t just Daryl that drew strength from the touch; Rick felt how the small twitch of fear in his belly faded away, ceased to exist. He nuzzled into Daryl’s shaggy hair and let the silky strands tickle his face.

“Never forget you’re not alone in this.”

Daryl’s arms held him just a bit tighter.

“And I don’t even mean just me. You’ve got a whole battalion of people on your side.”

Rick sensed Daryl’s huff. “A battalion’s more than a dozen people.”

Rick bit lightly into Daryl’s earlobe. “Don’t try to be cute with me, Dixon. An’ besides, there’s Carol, and she’s easily worth another dozen. So far, she’s been patient, hasn’t wanted to butt into it, but I’ve seen her face… Merle’s gonna be in deep shit pretty soon. Just sayin’.”

The leader sensed a question coming up.

“Does it make me weak?”

Rick pulled back just enough to look at his partner’s face. “What?”

Daryl hesitated. “If y’all weren’t there, I dunno if I…”

“No.” Rick was firm about this. “You always keep chastising me about the ‘being human’ thing. How many lectures have you given me over that subject already? High time I give you one. Humans are pack animals. We need other people. Think of any of the fights we’ve been into these past months. Do you think it makes Carol weak that she couldn’t fight them all alone? Or me? Or you, for that matter? So what on earth for d’you think it makes you weak that you like having our support against your dear ol’ brother?”

“Fine. Fine! School’s out for today,” Daryl grumbled, but there was a cautiously content undertone in his voice. 

***

Three days later, a tight-lipped Daryl came to ask Rick, Hershel, Carol and Glenn to join him and Merle in one of the SUVs where they’d been spending some brotherly quality time. Merle gave the familiar scowl to Rick, and nodded to the others. 

“Merle finally told me where he’s spent these past months.”

The older Dixon was a nuisance, and everyone instinctively kept an eye on him, but the truth was that other than running his mouth, he was just another member of the group. He took care of his guard shifts, he participated on supply runs, he chopped down walkers with the best of them. He kept to himself except when he talked with his brother, or lectured him about the crapness of his choices. Those discussions ate Daryl up inside, Rick sensed it; but he’d known for a long time already that the hunter was a loyal soul, first and foremost, and Merle was his blood.

“Merle?” Rick asked, and aimed a steady gaze at him.

The man visibly swallowed down a sneer. He drew a deep breath. “The first few weeks after Atlanta, I wandered wherever. Wasn’t in great condition, what with the blood loss an’ all, but I scraped by. The wound wouldn’t heal properly, though, an’ I think it got infected. If I hadn’t stumbled on the Governor’s camp, I’d’ve died, that’s for sure. As it was, I dropped down like a log, fainted right out. They told me it was a touch an’ go they didn’t put a bullet through my head; they thought I was a goner for sure; bleeding an’ all, they thought I’d been bitten. But Milton was with them an’ he’s got some skills, an’ they took me to the town. There’s doctors there, an’ medicine, an’ they took care of me. After that, I signed up with the Governor an’ I’ve been with them since.”

“Who is this Governor?” Rick asked, frowning. A town, doctors, taking care of people… but Daryl looked uneasy, so there was a downside here somewhere.

Merle huffed. “Not an actual governor. ‘s just a nickname. They’ve got a town, Woodbury, maybe twenty miles from where ya found me. ‘s nice. Comfy. Electricity, doctors. Women.” Merle smirked. “‘s good, I liked it there, mostly. Got along with the powers that be.”

“So what’s the catch?” Now Carol was frowning, too.

Merle sniffed. “The catch? It’s y’all. I’ve watched you people -- ya wouldn’t last a week there. The Gov wants followers, he ain’t much for rivals, that’s for sure. I don’t mind bein’ his right hand -- since I don’t have one myself,” he sniggered. Then he jerked his head to Rick. “But you… he’d take one look at your fuckin’ stubborn face and before you knew it, you’d be caught in friendly fire. Huntin’ accident, y’know. An’ the way you’re now, li’l bro, he wouldn’t like you much either.”

“What about me?” Carol asked in her mildest voice.

Merle barked a laugh. “The Gov ain’t stupid. You wouldn’t fool him for long.” He shook his head. “No, Woodbury ain’t the place for ya. I can show ya where it is if ya got a map.”

“How did you get mixed up with Lenny’s people then?”

“I’s mindin’ my own business, I’s gettin’ back from a scoutin’ trip with my boys. Got ambushed, got caught.”

“Tell us more about this Woodbury,” Hershel said. “Is it big? How many people?”

“Would it be a threat to us even if we never went there? Do they just...dunno...recruit people nicely, or are they like Lenny’s guys? Do they even want new people there?”

Rick gave an approving nod to Glenn. Those were good questions.

Merle considered the questions for a while. “Maybe a hundred of them. They don’t actively search for new people. They’ve taken in some. The thing is, the Gov ain’t big on lettin’ them leave. Just the scouts, an’ it ain’t easy to get in that group. This was only my fifth run an’ I’ve been there for five months already. He’s one suspicious son of a bitch. An’ I gotta tell ya...some of them stories Milton has let slide when he’s taken one too many drinks...makes me think ya don’t wanna get mixed up in the Gov’s special brand of crazy.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t much mind it though. He was always good to me. I did his dirty work, he gave me a place to stay.”

Daryl had probably asked this already but Rick wanted to hear the answer with his own ears. “Why’re you still here, then? Don’t you want to get back?”

The hunter glanced at him, a wary look in his eyes. Rick sighed to himself and sent out a quick reassurance. _“Don’t mean he has to leave. He can stay if he behaves, I’ve told you so. I’m just curious.”_

Merle gave him a hostile sideglance. “Ya wouldn’t understand.”

Before Rick had time to say anything, Daryl cut in, voice neutral. “I think he would.”

“Try me,” the leader added.

“Fine,” the older Dixon grunted and rolled his eyes. “Though how a pampered, uptight pig like you would, is a mystery to me. See here,” he talked slowly, as if to a simpleton, “there’s this thing called _being loyal_. Daryl’s my brother, man, I ain’t about to abandon him now that I found him. Just ‘cause he forgot about family loyalty don’t mean I have. Wouldn’t feel right to go back there an’ leave him at your mercy. One of these days, fuckin’ a redneck will stop feelin’ like a novelty, an’ I wanna be there to wring your motherfuckin’ neck for hurtin’ my baby brother.”

Merle’s vehemence didn’t come as a surprise. It wasn’t even unpleasant. For some reason, Rick _liked_ it. It felt like the one and only thing he had in common with the man: they both wanted to keep Daryl from getting hurt.

That would have to be enough. There’s no law that says you gotta be friends with your in-laws, after all. Not sprinkling poison in each other’s water bottles would do for now. 

Rick smiled at the glowering man. “Prepare for disappointment, then. You wanna wring my neck, it’s gotta be for some other reason. Ain’t no way I’ll ever hurt your brother. And if you stay with us long enough, you’ll notice that we get family loyalty just fine. Keep your eyes open, you might just learn something.”

His words did nothing to appease the burly man -- just the opposite, in fact. Merle bristled, bared his teeth like a wolf, and spat out a string of curses.

“A goddamn faggot ain’t got nothin’ to teach me. Just ‘cause you get to bend my li’l brother over, don’t mean you get to screw with me too. I’m here to protect my brother, you just-”

“Shut up!” The sound of Daryl’s angry bark echoed in the car. The hunter was pale with fury and his hands were white-knuckled fists. Carol, who sat closest to him, moved her hand as if to calm him down, but a glare from him made her pull her hand away.

“What the fuck is wrong with ya? What the hell is this goddamn _obsession_ with me and Rick _fuckin’?_ What’s it to ya what we do? We’re a _couple!_ Couples _fuck!_ Get over it!”

Merle scowled at Daryl. His voice was sullen. “Just hate to think of a Dixon with a guy-”

“Then _don’t think about it!_ That’s a real quick fix to your goddamn problem! Nobody’s forcin’ ya to visualize us banging!”

The others were holding their collective breaths. Hershel obviously had received more information about a gay couple’s sex life he’d ever wanted to know, but other than a faint flush on his face, he was brave enough to not even fidget. Glenn’s eyes were huge, and Rick had a vague idea he was busy trying to memorize every word just so he could report everything verbatim to Maggie later. Carol seemed to be slightly worried about the volatile situation, and her hand rested quietly on the handle of her knife. Rick was ready to intervene the second he felt it was necessary; he just didn’t think it would be. He thought he knew his hunter well enough to _know_ Daryl would need to handle this himself.

“Just don’t wanna see ya get hurt, alright! ‘s that so bad? I’m your goddamn _brother_! The cop’s just messin’ with ya, usin’ ya like a cheap slut. I bet he fucks ya from behind so’s not to have to see he’s bangin’ a man. The guy was _married_ , for fuck’s sake, how’re ya so fuckin’ stupid, bro?” Merle’s eyes were narrow slits as he was assessing his brother. “Or maybe it’s you doin’ the usin’, how should I know, maybe the cop’s askin’ for it, throwin’ himself at ya, a proper li’l Officer Friendly-”

“Shut your mouth before I _make_ ya shut up!” 

Rick’s ears hurt; Daryl’s bellow reverberated in the car and could probably be heard all the way to the cottage.

“Is that all ya can think of? Sex and fuckin’ and someone bendin’ someone else over? How fuckin’ _sad_ is that, Merle? I _told_ ya we’re a couple. I didn’t say we’re fuckbuddies. A _couple_! Get that through to your thick skull.”

Merle snorted. “Aww, my baby bro’s datin’. He’s _in a relationship_. Yeah, right… now who’s sad here, you or me? At least I ain’t delusional-”

“I love Rick! That ain’t a delusion. It ain’t sad either. I love him, and he loves me. So there. An’ I don’t ever wanna talk about this with ya no more, so if ya wanna stay with us, you gotta get this, an’ get this _now_. You ever speak about Rick like that again, I’m gonna punch your frickin’ teeth in, ‘s that clear?”

Rick cleared his throat. “I’m just gonna chime in here… Merle, you ever show that kind of disrespect to Daryl again, _I'_ m gonna punch your teeth in.” Rick gave him a polite smile to round off the friendly announcement.

Carol’s cold voice added to that. “Doesn’t look too good for your teeth, Merle. You’d better watch it. I’m not much for punching anyone’s teeth in but I’m quick with my knife an’ I hear it hurts like a bitch if someone accidentally cuts your Achilles tendons. Not to mention the things it does to your ability to walk. Just a fair warning. Accidents happen.”

A blissful silence reigned for a minute; even someone like Merle seemed to need a moment to mull things over. Rick had just enough time to run Daryl’s words over in his mind. _I love him_ , he’d said. Well, roared, more like. But Daryl had said he loved Rick. He’d said it publicly, in front of Rick, his brother, their friends, God, angels, and -- thanks to his shouting power -- probably a few walker herds in the neighboring counties as well. 

_“Wasn’t the way I’s gonna say that to ya the first time…”_ Daryl’s tone was a mixture -- deflated, shy, snappish, abashed, and just a bit excited.

_“You said it. That’s all that matters. If I were younger and more nimble I’d crawl over these fuckin’ seats to kiss you senseless. I love you, Daryl.”_ Rick knew he sounded like a giddy adolescent. Too bad, so sad.

_“Poor Merle… that might just finish him off.”_

_“Don’t tempt me…”_

Rick wondered for a second if the joke went to far, but Daryl knew him by now; Rick saw a smile tug his mouth, and with that tiny gesture the tension in the car started to relax.

“Alright then,” Rick said, steady and businesslike to calm down the situation. “Daryl, you know where our maps are, you can show them to Merle so he can mark down the location of this Woodbury. We can have a meeting later today to decide the route. We’d better give that place a wide berth.”

“So ya believe what I told ya?” 

Rick would’ve wanted to snigger at the incredulous tone of Merle’s question, but the peace and calm had lasted all of sixty seconds and he didn’t want to mess it up. Who knew, maybe Merle wouldn’t pick a fight for _another_ sixty seconds!

Rick raised a polite eyebrow. “I see no reason not to. I believe you have Daryl’s best interest at heart, so if you say it wouldn’t be safe for him -- or me, or Carol -- I trust your view. It’s obvious we won’t be seeing eye to eye in a hurry about most things, but I have no doubt you have a firm grasp on reality. I value that in a person.”

Merle stared at him. Then he turned to his brother. “He always talk like that? An’ so much?”

Rick saw Daryl bite the inside of his lip to keep a chuckle in. “You’ll get used to it. An’ it’s not like you’re the strong an’ silent type, either.”

Merle huffed and opened the car door. “Enough of the group bondin’. Gotta go take a dump. All this shit about love an’ trust is gettin’ to me.”

He got out of the car and vanished behind the cottage. Hershel sighed. “Daryl, I… Your brother, he’s a...a character.”

Daryl chuckled. “That’s one way of puttin’ it.” The chuckle died down. He chewed on his lip. “I’m sorry. I know he’s a lot to take. An’ he’s my brother so… I know ya would’ve chucked him out if…”

The hunter shifted in his seat, awkward and uncertain. Rick wondered about that for a second, then he got it: Daryl didn’t feel comfortable putting it into words, the fact that everyone tolerated Merle because of him. That his family put up with an inconvenience like Merle because they _loved Daryl_ , and for no other reason. Half a year with these people, and the hunter still had a hard time fathoming that people did such things simply because they knew it was important to him.

Looked like Carol got it at the same moment, and defused the situation. “Nah, Merle’s good entertainment. We’ve got no TV but we got a live Big Brother show on the road with us. A study of group dynamics. Very scientific an’ all.”

Even Hershel’s mouth curved into a smile.

***

A week later, they were holed in a largish house for the third day, when Lori gave Rick a furtive jerk of the head. Rick followed her out of the house and out of the earshot of the group. 

“I’m worried about Andrea,” she blurted out without preamble.

“What’s wrong?” Rick frowned. He hadn’t noticed anything. Although -- and he felt a stab of guilty conscience -- lately he hadn’t paid enough attention to every member of his group. He kept an eye on Merle, he talked with Carl, he was on constant alert ever since they’d been back on the road. He tried to keep himself busy because every time he let his mind drift, it showed him Shane, bloody and broken. Twice, Daryl had shaken him awake; Rick had whimpered in his sleep, tossed and turned, and when he’d woken up, he’d told Daryl about the nightmares, wept like a baby in Daryl’s arms and not even been embarrassed about it. 

Andrea.

He should’ve talked to her. He had Daryl to help him get through this. What about Andrea? In whose arms was she now supposed to curl up during the nights?

“You can’t seriously ask what’s wrong, Rick,” Lori said, and there was disappointment in her voice.

“No, you’re right. But why are you worried? I get that she’d be sad, but is there something else? Something more serious?”

“She’s been too quiet. I’m just thinking… she lost her sister, and Dale...and then Patricia...and now Shane… It’s not like we haven’t all had losses but Andrea has had so many...and people handle this stuff differently. She’s not doing too well, and I don’t know what to do to help. She won’t talk about it.”

“What am I supposed to do, then?”

“I don’t know, do I?” Lori paced around, frustrated. “I didn’t come here to ask you to _do_ something, I just thought you should know. I _know_ you haven’t noticed it, you have too much on your mind and I _know_ you’re still dealing with it yourself.”

“Ok, ok. Do you think she might do something to herself?”

Lori shook her head. “I’ve no idea what goes on in her head, to be honest.” 

Rick and Daryl had a bedroom to themselves. Rick reported the conversation to the hunter that night, and Daryl’s approach to Andrea’s problem was straightforward, as usual. 

“Gotta give her more stuff to do. She’s been on house duty for too long, it ain’t good, she’s got too much time to stew on her loss. I’ll start takin’ her to runs, give Glenn a break for a while, he can spend more time with Maggie.” 

“You’re a great big softie,” Rick said, smiling, and pressed his savage hunter against the mattress, covered Daryl’s hard body with his own, and muffled the huffy protests with kisses. 

***

Eight days and three runs later, things came to a head with Andrea. She, Daryl, and T-Dog returned to the camp -- a ramshackle cabin near a pond this time -- with a few cans of food and an idea for a suitable house for that night. They gave the information to Rick, and then T-Dog ambled to Lori, and Andrea slunk out with a vague ‘just need some time’. Daryl and Rick watched her leave. The hunter turned to Rick with a grave face.

“She almost got herself killed this time. It’s like she ain’t all there, man.”

“This the first time?”

“Not so bad the first two rounds. Today, she just lost her focus an’ froze. Someone’s gotta talk to her, Rick. Wanna give it a try?”

“I think I gotta. Don’t know what to say but I gotta try.”

Daryl grunted a yes but part of his attention was on the group. His eyes darted around the shed.

“Where’s Merle?”

Rick checked the group as well. The only people missing -- besides Beth who was out at the back of the cabin on her guard shift -- were Andrea and Merle. This wasn’t good.

“Please tell me Merle has a great bedside manner…”

“He really don’t. Fuck! Ya better pray he just went out to take a leak…”

They strode out. The thought of Merle going all, well, _Merle_ on Andrea wasn’t a pleasant idea. True, within the past few weeks, Merle had learned a thing or two about the calm, take-no-crap attitude of the group’s women, and had toned down with the worst of his repertoire. He did seem to get a kick of sorts out of annoying the ladies with his offensive insinuations, but he’d learned to keep off skating on the thinnest ice. Still, the idea of him going at Andrea when she was shaken and vulnerable… Rick walked faster, and heard Daryl breathe more _fuck_ s as the hunter kept up with him.

They looked at all directions. The small, sparse woods, the winding path, the rusty frame of a pick-up. Daryl vanished behind the cabin; after a short moment he beckoned Rick over.

“Beth says she saw Andrea head over to the pond.”

Beth nodded eagerly. “Yeah, and Merle went after her. Didn’t think much of it. Should I have?” She looked worried.

“Nah… We’ll just… make sure they’re safe.” Daryl gave her his best smile; Rick knew the man had a soft spot the size of the Pacific Ocean for the girl and didn’t want to upset her over this.

They walked slowly towards the pond. The ground was soft, and Rick found it easy to tread silently. They stopped fifty yards from the waterline when they saw Andrea sitting on a rock, arms wrapped around her feet, forehead resting on her knees, her shoulders trembling. Rick guessed she was crying. That didn’t really surprise them. What did, though, was Merle. The man was crouching by Andrea, his hand resting lightly on her shoulderblade. They couldn’t hear anything, but they saw the way Merle’s jaw moved. The man was talking to Andrea, and something told them it wasn’t unwelcome to her.

They watched those two for a long time -- frowning, wary, but cautiously hopeful. And Rick didn’t get where the hope was coming from. Sure as hell Merle hadn’t given much reason to think he’d be any good at consoling a grieving woman.

Little by little, Andrea’s shoulders calmed down. She lifted her head a few times, said something, Merle pat her back, they talked some more. They saw Andrea nod and lay her head on her knees again. Merle pat her a second time and stood up.

He noticed them almost immediately after he’d turned to walk away. The thoughtful expression vanished at once and his face was like a thunder. When he got close, he hissed, “Whatcha lookin’ at? Can’t a guy talk to a gal around here without ya two watchin’ over like a pair of fuckin’ hawks?”

Rick decided to ignore Merle’s bluster. “Is she alright?” he asked instead, unfazed.

Merle glowered at Rick. “Like hell she is. She’s a wreck, not that ya care.”

“What the fuck do ya mean? Of course we care.” Daryl’s heated reply. “An’ since when d’you give a crap about the grief of others?” Daryl’s eyes narrowed, suspicious all of a sudden. “Ya ain’t tryin’ to get inside her panties? ‘cause that would be a new low even for you.”

Merle took a quick step closer to his brother. His jaw jutted angrily. “Don’t think ya know everythin’ there’s to know about me, li’l bro.” He stopped to breathe in and out a few times. Then he continued with the usual Merle-y sneer. “‘sides, I like my women feisty. Ain’t no fun tryin’ to chat up a bitch who can’t give as good as she gets. Blondie there,” he jerked his head towards Andrea, ”she ain’t half bad. Used to hold her own pretty well. Used to take no shit from me. Was entertainin’, y’know. Just gotta get her back on her feet.”

Rick saw Daryl mull over this. “It’s just… ya gotta see how it looked like. Ain’t somethin’ I’m used to -- you bein’ all concerned an’ shit.”

Merle’s mouth twitched, and not in a smile either. “‘s that so. Ya got a selective memory, brother. Ol’ Merle batched up your scraped knees a few dozen times when ya was just a goddamn ankle-biter, an’ when mom went up in flames, it sure wasn’t the ol’ man’s shoulder ya cried against. But hey, whatever, baby brother.”

He strode off back to the cabin.

Daryl stared at his back. “This is new.”

“What?”

“Merle bein’ the one who’s right. Y’know, morals an’ ethics an’ some shit like that.”

Rick gave him a weak smile and nudged him gently. “You never said Merle was evil. You said he did the best he could. I’m not saying I ain’t surprised… but it’s not like it’s a _bad_ surprise to see there’s more to him than being offensive 24/7.”

Daryl snorted. They threw one last glance at Andrea. She was resting her chin on her knees and watching the peaceful little pond. They decided to let her be; whatever Merle had said to her, it seemed to have calmed her down, so maybe this was a turn for the better.

***

After almost a month on the road, the weather was warming up, Maggie was getting better, and Lori was getting bigger. Maggie’s mood had improved at the same pace as her ability to walk and run, and they were all glad to have another able fighter back on duty. Lori still seeked Rick’s company every now and then, to talk about her worries about the baby, but mostly T-Dog had taken Rick’s place in that respect as well. Rick didn’t mind -- T-Dog was a steady man, and would be able to provide an air of safety maybe even better than Rick, and that was as it should be.

They’d made a wide circle around Woodbury, and still they’d had to dodge a group of the Governor’s men four days previously. Daryl noticed them on his scouting trip and asked Merle’s opinion. He and Rick followed Daryl and watched the group take a rest. Merle grunted, handed the binoculars back to Daryl, and started creeping away without a word. Once they were at a safe distance, Merle volunteered a sliver of information. 

“Shumpert an’ Martinez. They’re bad news. For you. Me, they like. You, they wouldn’t. They’d take you to Woodbury in a hurry. Milton’s got some weird research goin’ on, an’ I’d keep a pregnant woman as far away from him as possible.”

“What, he’s some Mengele kind of dude or what?” 

Merle frowned. “Was he that nazi doc? Them experiments an’ shit?”

Daryl nodded and Merle shook his head. “Nah, he ain’t evil. He’s just...curious, I guess. Wants to know what makes them biters tick, an’ the Gov’s encouragin’ him, providin’ material for studies, kind of. Nobody knows shit about why the dead get up an’ go around munchin’ on the livin’, an’ I have a feelin’ they’d love to study an apocalypse-era pregnancy. Ain’t no preganant ladies in Woodbury right now, an’ the Gov might just hesitate to make a guinea pig outta his own people. There might be questions at least, an’ he don’t like questions much. Only the ones he makes.”

“Why’s he so interested? Is he a scientist?” Rick asked.

Merle shook his head again. “Nah, dunno what he was but he ain’t no scientist. Just a guy, never talks too much about his past. I’ve got no idea why he’s so obsessed but I know he _is_ , an’ that’s enough.”

A few days later, they got a glimpse of several cars and a school bus. That evening, Rick called a meeting. They sat in an SUV, and looked at him, every one of them just as worried as he was.

“Honestly… I don’t know what to say,” he began, frustrated at himself, at the situation, at the fruitless search for a safe place. “Every day, it becomes clearer and clearer there are some really bad people out there, and what’s worse is that there’s a lot more of them than us. We can’t relax until we find a place we can defend. I’m all out of ideas. We need a castle with a moat, so if you know where to find one, please, by all means, don’t hold back…”

A corner of Carol’s mouth lifted in a joyless half-smile. “Yeah, Georgia’s pretty low on medieval castles.”

They talked for hours but ended up with diddly-squat. All they could do was to decide to be even more cautious, and continue the search. Glenn had voiced out loud one of Rick’s greatest worries.

“We’re running low on gas. Again. We still keep findin’ it, but with the Woodbury groups, and Lenny’s people, and who knows how many other groups, it’s bound to start becoming scarce at some point. An’ finding it will become more dangerous.”

“And Lori is soon seven months pregnant. We’re running low on time with her, as well.” That had been Hershel.

Rick had no solution to offer. The monster that had been content to slumber silently for weeks, shifted in its sleep. 

Later, he slunk out of the house they were staying in and leaned on the back porch railing. He reminded himself he was in command of the black, swirling poisonous _thing_ within, not the other way around, but he felt powerless -- again -- against the impasse they were facing. Shouldn’t he find an out? What kind of a leader was he when he had no solution to offer, just more of the same, endless running on continuously dwindling supplies? 

He heard steps getting closer -- Merle was going back in after his two-hour shift. The older Dixon said nothing to him, just gave a tiny nod which was a huge improvement over the glares and scowls of only a few weeks ago.

Rick heard the door open and close, and in a minute open again. A few seconds, and there was the familiar presence of the hunter. He leaned on the railing, shoulders touching.

“Merle said ya look like crap.”

“Did he now? ‘s that Merlese for ‘ya better go an’ take care of your shitty boyfriend’?”

Daryl chuckled. “So, what’s eatin’ ya?”

“Nothing you haven’t heard before. Monsters an’ frustration. Same ol’, same ol’...”

The hunter didn’t waste time on words. He’d learned the power of kind touch, and he didn’t hesitate.

“Come here,” he said, grabbed Rick’s arm, turned him around, and drew him near, so that he stood between Daryl’s legs, as close as possible. They stood there for a while, their breaths in sync. Rick calmed down, the monster’s slumber deepened again, and everything seemed much less impossible. They’d take one day at a time, same as before. Nothing more, nothing less. 

“If it’s the same ol’, then I don’t gotta repeat myself? Ya _know_ what I’d say?” Daryl mumbled in Rick’s neck.

“Yeah. I know.” Rick turned his face a little, scratched their stubbled cheeks together, and the blast of _affection_ crashing into him almost made him take a step backwards. 

“I love you,” he rumbled, and let his lips skim lightly over Daryl’s. He wanted to relish the moment, take this kiss real slow, like sinking into a warm bubble bath, savoring every caress of the sweet warmth. When their lips finally slotted firmly together and Daryl’s tongue slipped into Rick’s mouth, they were immersed in love, and it was so much more than just a feeling. It was founded on trust, bolstered with partnership, laced with friendship, and spiced with lust.

The kiss ended, but they kept standing there, foreheads pressed together. Rick played with the strands of Daryl’s messy hair, twirled them in his fingers, brushed them aside behind his ear.

“Y’know I love you too, right?” Daryl wasn’t shouting the words now, he hadn’t said them out loud often after the first time, such things still didn’t come easy to him. His low voice was awkward, the three little words clumsy, and there was absolutely nothing Rick would’ve rather listened to. His heart skipped like a frickin’ moronic lamb on spring pasture, and Rick gave it a stern command to start acting more its age.

“Yeah. I know,” he said again, with a small smile on his face.

Daryl grunted. 

“You feel better now?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

Daryl’s reply was a deep kiss.

“There’s a tool shed near the cars,” he said when they finally paused.

“So?”

“It’s nice an’ clean. Which is ridiculous, it’s a fuckin’ tool shed. Weird people…”

“Ok. So?”

“Dunno… Wanna try a little mutual indecency there? Since there ain’t enough bedrooms. Just thinkin’, y’know, maybe…?”

Rick chuckled, grabbed Daryl’s hand, and tugged at him. “Let’s go.”

His heart kept frolicking like a stupid lamb, and now there were the tingles and the sparks -- the whole nine yards. _Spring, hormones -- seems you can’t beat that shit_ , and Rick felt gloriously light and frivolous all of a sudden. Chemistry, right? Thank God for chemistry.


	22. New Components

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter -- it’s time to see what happens with Rick and Daryl and the others... 
> 
> I’m sorry it took such a long time -- couldn’t keep my schedule with these last few chapters. Oh well, a learning experience. I do hope you’ll think it was worth the wait, though :)

Only a week later they found a house, relatively unlooted, with a generator and a fair amount of fuel. Since it was already much warmer, they didn’t need to waste the power on heat. Cooking with a stove was nice, though, and they didn’t mind the running water, either. There wasn’t much food left in the house, and the drive-by looters hadn’t taken the time to finish off the resident walkers, but it wasn’t much of a challenge to Rick’s group. The house was a sprawling, crazy old place, and it took forever to clean it up, fix the broken doors and get rid of the mice which had set up a colony in the kitchen and a few of the bedrooms. 

But after a few days, they had the place to themselves -- plenty of bedrooms, and a location that was marginally easier to defend if necessary. The house was surrounded by a sturdy stone fence -- it wouldn’t stop a determined group of hostiles or a large herd, but it would slow them down for sure. Rick decided they’d hole in there for a while, at least a couple of weeks, and if things looked promising, they might consider aiming for two months. The place wouldn’t be too hopeless, considering Lori and the newcomer.

He didn’t dare to hope, not really, but he put on a brave face for the others. The group deserved a break, a little bit of permanence. 

“Ya think this place is worth the trouble?” Daryl asked on the fourth evening as they were strolling along the fence.

“It’s the best place we’ve found since the turbine house.” Rick dodged the question.

Daryl huffed. “Don’t do that with me, Rick.”

Rick shrugged. “I don’t know what I’m waiting for. I don’t know what I’m looking for. I think… I think I’ll know when I see it. And this ain’t it. But it’s not _bad_ , it’s better than most, and they need the rest. Lori’s getting tired more easily, and Hershel isn’t young. We’re pretty well sheltered here, and we can manage more walkers than in the earlier places.”

“What about you?” Daryl asked in a soft voice.

“What?”

“Ya say _they_ need a rest.”

Rick stopped to lean on the fence and stared at the empty road that loomed a mile away. He sighed. 

“You’re right. We all need the rest. It’s just… back then, I let my guard down, just a little, and look what happened. Every time, someone died. I try not to hope for good things anymore. I can’t handle the disappointments, to be honest. Hershel said I need to not think too much ahead, like...in a way that spoils the moment. So I try to enjoy the good moments. Tell myself ‘this is good’. And it works, most of the time. And back at the house, there were a lot of moments, days even, when I could relax. But now... No, I can’t let my guard down.”

“You’re not alone in this,” Daryl reminded him.

“I know,” Rick glanced at the hunter and gave him a warm smile. He studied Daryl’s face for a moment, and felt a sense of joy as he so often felt when the man was simply _there_ by his side. A thought occurred to him. 

“How d’you do it? You pretty much never seem stressed out.”

Daryl shifted the crossbow sling, straightened his shoulders, and let his gaze drift over the view. Rick knew the hunter’s gaze was a scanner -- mapping, analyzing, paying attention to every detail. How he managed to look so composed at the same time was a mystery to Rick.

“This life, it ain’t so different from Before. I guess I’m just used to it. Being wary, always on the alert, always believin’ the worst of strangers.” He shrugged. “Who knew a lifetime of crap would actually work in my favor one day?” He glanced at Rick. “So ya don’t hafta be jealous of the skills me an’ Merle have. They don’t come from a good place. I’m just glad it’s useful now.”

Rick didn’t pity the man, and he knew Daryl would’ve hated it anyway. Rick only had admiration for the man -- if it had been him with the sort of background the younger Dixon had, he wasn’t at all certain he would’ve come out as the winner. 

Rick touched Daryl’s shoulder and squeezed it quickly. The gesture was enough; Daryl’s mouth curved into a tiny smile.

***

Ten days later, Rick entered the woods not far from their house. They’d done this every now and then during the long months, but these past days Daryl had insisted on regular practise. The hunter gave himself ten minutes’ head start, and it was up to Rick to track him down. Usually Daryl stopped and hid somewhere, though, “Gotta start somewhere, ya find me first, then ya can try actually _catchin’_ me…”.

Rick was a city sheriff, there was no getting around it. He’d managed to _almost_ find Daryl a couple of times, and he was learning, getting better at it. However, when Daryl pointed out animal tracks, Rick tried, he really did, but more often than not it was pure guesswork. Daryl snorted and huffed and rolled his eyes, but he was a patient teacher. Whenever Rick got a thing right, he received a small approving nod, and he couldn’t help being amused at himself. He felt like an eager puppy after getting a trick right, wagging its tail, lolling its tongue, jumping up and down, ridiculously pleased at pleasing its master. 

He shook his head, chuckled to himself, and focused his gaze on the ground and the plants and the tree trunks ahead of him.

Thirty minutes later, he circled a large rock, and found Daryl leaning on the rock, crossbow dangling in his hands, mouth quirked into a smile.

“Ya still gotta work on the walk. I could hear ya comin’ for minutes.”

“Glass half-empty much? I _found_ you, didn’t I?” 

Daryl’s smile widened. “Yeah ya did. That ain’t bad.”

“What do I get as a reward?”

“I’m proud of ya?” Daryl suggested, smirking.

Rick scrunched his nose. “I was kinda hoping for some public indecency.”

“Public?” Daryl raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t know you’re into that sorta thing.”

Rick pointed to the nearby trees. “Was referring to those squirrels. I kinda feel like wanting to scar them for life.”

Daryl barked a low laugh, pushed himself off the rock and strolled to Rick, put the crossbow on his back and concentrated on giving Rick the filthiest kiss imaginable.

“That enough?” he asked when they paused for breath.

“Nah, it was a mighty big achievement...What else you got?” Rick smirked, skin tingling, heart racing.

Daryl quirked an eyebrow. “I might be takin’ special requests…”

Rick didn’t say a word. He looked at his partner, his swollen lips, narrowed eyes, flushed cheeks. He put his hands on Daryl’s shoulders and hinted at the special request with a gentle push. A smile tugged Daryl’s mouth. His hands skimmed Rick’s sides and stopped at his waistband.

“Dontcha think that’s a li’l over-the-top reward? Whatever will ya ask when ya manage to catch me?” Daryl teased.

Rick gave him a stronger push and grinned.

“I fully trust in your imagination. I’m sure you’ll think of something. There’s still stuff we haven’t done…”

The hunter’s eyes flashed, amused and aroused. “‘s that so?”

“I seem to remember something you said you wanted to do ‘later’.” Rick sensed a flush creep on his own cheeks, his brain screaming _improper_ and _oh god_ and _obscene_ and _yes please would you could you_ …

Daryl didn’t need more reminding. Rick saw the tip of Daryl’s tongue run over his lower lip, and Rick’s dick gave a very hopeful twitch.

“Would a prize like that motivate ya to practice trackin’ more?”

“It sure would.”

“‘s there anythin’ ya think _I_ might need to practice? Them rewards start to sound pretty goddamn temptin’.”

Rick thought maybe he should’ve felt a shiver of disgust. It was one thing to imagine being on the receiving end of… of _that_ , and completely different being the one doing it. All he felt, however, was a near painful bolt of want shooting through him.

“We can discuss somersaults and cartwheels. Maybe baking a bread. I’ll think of something. But first, I’d really like that reward for today’s task…”

With a fluid movement, Daryl dropped to his knees, and didn’t dawdle. Rick watched Daryl’s agile fingers open his belt and zipper, push the pants open and out of the way along with Rick’s underwear. The hunter glanced quickly at Rick as he wrapped his fingers around Rick’s cock and gave the tip a slow lick. Daryl’s eyes fluttered shut, he closed his mouth on the cock and took it in, slow and deliberate, a fraction of an inch at the time, and his tongue worked on the underside, and Rick knew with perfect clarity this would not take much time. 

The sight of his dick sliding in and out of Daryl’s hot mouth never got old, Rick thought dizzily. The need to drown in the feeling and close his eyes was overwhelming, but he couldn’t give in to it; maybe he was the one getting an outdoorsy blowjob but it meant he was also the one in charge of the walker watch. It just wouldn’t do to get killed like this!

Daryl grasped Rick’s hand and settled it on his head. Rick tangled his fingers in the long strands, gripped just a little bit tight, and the deep moan Daryl let out vibrated on his dick and pushed him over the edge.

Rick fought to calm his breath as Daryl rose up slowly and brushed dirt off his pants. Rick succumbed to the luxury of daring to close his eyes for a second, but opened them almost immediately when he heard Daryl’s breathy chuckle. The hunter was peering at a tree. Rick turned to check what had amused the hunter so much.

Two wide-eyed squirrels were staring at them, immobile, aghast, obviously wondering what the holy hell was going on in their front yard. 

“Scarred for life, I’m tellin’ ya.”

Rick gripped Daryl by the neck and pulled him close and poured out a warm ‘thank you’ in a lingering kiss.

“Can’t be helped. They don’t wanna watch, they can turn their backs,” he mumbled in Daryl’s mouth.

Ten minutes later, Rick was frowning at a barely visible, blurry mark on the ground, frantically racking his brain for the correct answer, when Daryl covered his mouth with his palm, grabbed his arm, pulled him down behind a low bush.

_“What?”_

_“Dunno for sure… heard somethin’.”_

They waited, holding their breaths, and then Rick heard it too. The sound of soft, steady footsteps, and a thump of heavy, uneven stumbling, accompanied by a sporadic chink of metal. The men glanced at each other, puzzled. Daryl peeked through the upper part of the bush.

 _“What the…”_ He nudged Rick and the leader raised himself a little to have a look.

 _Just when you think this new world couldn’t possibly surprise you anymore, it throws another curve ball at you._ Rick tried to make sense of the small group advancing towards them from behind a low hill. They hadn’t noticed the men yet, so Rick and Daryl had ample time to gape at the sight.

A tall woman with thick dreadlocks walked with cautious steps but with the unmistakeable air of a warrior who would take no shit from anyone. She eyed her surroundings like a suspicious tigress, ready to pounce at any moment. They didn’t see any guns on her, but a hilt of a sword of some kind peeked above her shoulder.

All that in itself was interesting, but not enough to astonish people like Rick or Daryl. What truly got their eyebrows to shoot upwards were the two grotesque walkers that were following the woman. The creatures had metal collars and the woman was leading them by chains. And if that wasn’t weird enough, then the armless torsos and the jawless faces of the former human beings were the cherry on top.

Daryl glanced at Rick with a question in his eyes. Rick gave him a tiny nod. They stood up slowly, not wanting to surprise the strange woman too much. Technically, there was no need to reveal themselves -- the woman would’ve passed them, unaware -- but they wanted to know what the fuck this weird shit was about. The woman looked capable enough, but the men were confident in their ability to pit handguns and a crossbow against a sword with reasonable success.

Daryl cleared his throat. “Hey, lady, what’s with them walkers?”

The woman’s hand shot to the sword’s hilt and gripped it as she twirled to face the two men. Rick and Daryl kept their hands slightly raised, pointing the weaponless palms towards her.

“Easy,” Rick said in a low, steady voice. “We ain’t here to hurt you.”

“Unless you force us,” Daryl added.

The woman watched them, didn’t say a word, and Rick almost smiled. The look she gave them reminded him of Daryl. She was dangerous, there was no doubt about it. It was all there in that one look. The scan, the analysis, the scales weighing them -- dissecting, evaluating.

She was still gripping the hilt but she hadn’t drawn the weapon. The walkers behind her shifted and twisted but otherwise didn’t move.

Apparently, they had passed the first test: she loosened the grip and slowly pulled her hand back.

“What do you want?” she asked, with a clear enunciation, putting emphasis on each word. Rick added that to his own analysis. He had a feeling she didn’t suffer fools very well, had no patience for small talk, and little tolerance for inadequate communication.

“We’re curious about the set-up you have with the walkers. Would you mind letting us know why you have them on a leash and why they’re not trying to attack you?” He kept his voice as mild and non-threatening as possible.

Suspicion and wariness exuded from the woman in steady, continuous waves. They were so strong, for a second there Rick wondered if he wasn’t actually _seeing_ them, not just sensing.

Not that it was surprising she was suspicious, he thought -- a lone woman in this world with people like Lenny in it with her. Wariness was an essential survival skill.

The woman nodded, almost as if she had come to a conclusion.

“Walkers seem to think I’m one of them because I have these two with me. Probably it’s the smell. These two cover me pretty well; the others mostly leave me alone. No hands, no scratches. No jaws, no bites. Seems to have lessened their aggression, too.”

Again the precise, almost clinical way of speech. 

“You got a name?” Daryl asked.

“Do you?” she retorted.

Rick chuckled. “Fair enough. I’m Rick, this is Daryl.” He jerked his head towards the hunter.

She pondered on the information for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of answering.

“I’m Michonne.”

She really wasn’t much for overcommunication. 

“Pleased to meet you, Michonne.”

The woman gave a small nod.

“You got a sword? That your only weapon? What’s up with that? Don’t seem much of a defense…” Daryl frowned, genuinely puzzled.

A corner of her mouth lifted the tiniest fraction of an inch. “I’m still here, aren’t I?” she countered. “A samurai to your Robin Hood.” She looked pointedly at the crossbow peeking behind Daryl’s back.

Daryl picked up on the word. “A samurai? Not a knight?”

She raised her hand to the hilt -- slowly, obviously not wanting to seem aggressive. “Knights didn’t carry these,” she said, and drew the weapon with an almost inaudible _shiiiiing_.

Rick tilted his head. You didn’t see those often in rural Georgia. The long, beautiful, deadly katana shimmered in the rays of afternoon sunshine. There was nothing diffident or jittery in the arm that held the weapon; the woman oozed self-confidence. Rick thought she didn’t want to fight them; she was simply prepared for the worst. Just like them. 

For some reason, Rick had taken an instant liking to this strange, reticent woman. He’d felt nothing like that for any of the people who’d tried to talk their way into their group during these long months.

 _“What do you think?”_ he shot the question to Daryl.

Daryl’s thought had a baffled undercurrent. _“Dunno. Weird chick. Kinda have a good feelin’ about her, I just don’t get why.”_

Daryl’s approval _(sort of)_ was all Rick needed.

“We have a group of people staying in a decent house nearby. Men, women, children. The food is simple but there’s enough for one more if you want to join us for a meal. No strings. You want to leave after, that’s fine. You want to stay, we can talk about it.”

“You’d take a stranger in, just like that?” she asked, like it was an absurd idea.

Daryl scoffed. “Not just like that. We haven’t taken anyone since...since forever. Not since this one guy -- an’ he didn’t fit in.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. No need to voice the question.

The memory of the incident came out in Daryl’s icy voice. “He tried to hurt one of our women the second night.”

She kept looking at Daryl but it was Rick who continued.

“He won’t hurt anyone again. We’re a nice group, but we don’t take kindly to people who try to take advantage of that. We’re a family, we take care of each other. We don’t bother others, but we will protect our own.”

She still said nothing. Rick went on.

“I’m not saying you could join us even if you wanted to. I won’t make that decision alone. Something like this involves the whole family, so we’d discuss it. All I’m saying you’re welcome to the meal. Anything else… we’ll see.”

Now she talked. “What makes you think I’d be interested in joining anyone? I’m not out shopping for groups. I’m fine on my own.”

She didn’t sound defensive; she spoke like it was a fact. It was in the way she held herself. She wouldn’t go around trying to please anyone; she did her own thing, and apparently she did it well enough to want to _keep_ doing it.

“Lady, ain’t nobody fine on their own these days. This world ain’t cut out for lone heroes. Ya get sick, ya hurt yourself, ya meet people who ain’t nice…”

She winced. Looked like she’d already met people who hadn’t been nice.

“We’re not out shopping for new people, either,” Rick said, and he put an ounce of steel in his voice this time. She didn’t look like a person who needed silk gloves and softly spoken words. “But we’ve met bigger groups which haven’t been all that nice. So far, we’ve managed to hold our own. You look competent enough-”

“Semi-sane, too,” Daryl muttered, and got an amused huff from the woman.

“-and yes, fairly sane too, pet walkers or no pet walkers,” Rick continued, a small smile tugging his mouth. “We’re aware it wouldn’t hurt to find one or two good people more into our group. Maybe into our family, too, in time.”

She was about to say something but Rick raised his hand.

“But we’re getting ahead of things. Right now, all I’m offering is a meal. You can see how you like it with us -- and we can see how we like you.”

“You’re in charge?”

“Yes.”

“And who’s he?” Her gaze traveled to Daryl.

“He’s my second-in-command.” 

Rick never told anyone -- even though he thought Daryl may have guessed but was kind enough not to bring it up -- but he _hesitated_ a split second before he went on. “He’s also my partner.”

The woman quirked her eyebrow. “As in…?”

Rick nodded firmly. “As in. You got a problem with that, it’s better to part ways now.”

She let out a low chuckle, genuinely entertained by the mere idea. “Couldn’t care less. Good for you for holding a relationship together during the apocalypse, ‘s all I’m saying."

Rick and Daryl glanced at each other. Daryl gave a small half-shrug and started to walk back towards the house. 

“How far is it?” Michonne asked, and yanked the chains to get the walkers moving behind her. She kept her distance to the men but followed them without further hesitation.

“Fifteen minutes or so,” Daryl replied over his shoulder. _“Why’re we doin’ this again?”_ he went on.

 _“I’ve got a good feeling about her,”_ Rick said. _“But that ain’t the main reason.”_

_“Hunh?”_

_“You’re better at that kinda thing than I am. And you said you had a good feeling about her.”_

Daryl’s thoughts stayed silent for a while.

_“Hunh. Ya willin’ to bet on my gut?”_

_“You know I am.”_ Rick sent out a silent chuckle. _“And anyway, what’s a little risk-taking among the apocalypse. Let’s go all out, and bring a katana-wielding stranger with a few chopped-up pet walkers to the dinner table, why don’t we.”_

Daryl replied with a silent rumble of laughter.

***

Carol was on guard duty. She was sitting on the stone fence near the gate, twirling her knife and chatting with Carl. Rick saw them notice the approaching group -- the way Carol’s knife stopped and her hand settled on the rifle was a dead giveaway. Carl hopped off the fence and took a few steps towards them. Rick was glad to see he wasn’t running headlong at them but was watching the group carefully instead, trying to figure out if there was some ominous reason for a stranger with walkers to follow his dad.

When they got a dozen yards from the fence, Rick stopped and gestured Michonne to stop as well.

“What’s up?” Carol asked with a wary tone.

It was Daryl who answered. But first, he strolled to the fence, held out his hand; Carol took it and hopped down gracefully. Rick glanced quickly at Michonne. She was watching the interaction closely, and Rick wondered what she saw to make her tilt her head ever so slightly. The relaxed way Daryl and Carol acted around each other? The way a kid carried his side arm with calm confidence? The fact that there really were women and children in the group, and the two men hadn’t just tried to lure her into some secluded hovel, full of other scumbags, to have their way with her?

“Nothing’s up. We just brought a dinner guest. Carol, meet Michonne. Michonne, this is Carol.”

Carol’s gaze was guarded as she sized the newcomer up.

“Carol.” Michonne acknowledged the other woman with just as much assessment in her eyes. Then she turned to Rick. “You weren’t lying about women and children.”

“Did you expect me to?” Rick countered, a bit amused to have his guess confirmed.

She shrugged. “Not really. Didn’t get that vibe from you two. I’ve been wrong a few times, though.”

Carl came closer. “Dad? What’s with the walkers?”

“They’re for my protection,” Michonne replied with a much warmer voice. 

“We can talk about the walkers and everything else later. Let’s go in and figure out where we’ll put them while we eat and talk,” Rick said briskly, and led Michonne, Daryl and Carl through the gate.

They ended up storing the walkers into a tool shed. As they attached the chains to a sturdy tractor mower, Rick sensed Michonne’s curious eyes on him.

“Yes?” he prompted.

“That boy’s your son?”

“Yes. His name is Carl.” Rick anticipated the next question. “I was married before. Carl’s mom -- Lori -- is part of this group. You’ll meet her soon.”

When they ascended the porch stairs, Daryl came out. His eyes flicked between Rick and Michonne.

“I told them. They ain’t happy about this.”

“I’m sure they aren’t,” Rick said, and turned to Michonne. “It’s nothing personal. We just haven’t met many good people. Hell, haven’t really met _any_ good people.”

“Why me?”

“Just a feelin’.” Daryl opened the door and held it for her. She gave him an impassive look and strode in.

The others were sitting in the living room. All eyes were on the stranger. She had the look of a crouching predator -- ready to bolt or to brawl at the slightest sign of trouble. Her eyes darted from T-Dog with an arm around the pregnant Lori, to Beth and Carl sitting side by side on the couch, to Maggie and Glenn; her gaze caught Hershel’s white beard, Andrea’s suspicious eyes, and Merle’s slouch in an armchair. She paused for a fraction of a second at each display of weapons -- at the knives in thigh holsters, at Carl’s crossbow on a sidetable, at the side arms Andrea, T-Dog, Maggie and Glenn carried, and at the rifles carefully placed by each window.

The silence was reaching the point of awkward. Trust Merle to take care of it in his inimitable way. He picked at his teeth with his index finger and gave Michonne an assessing look from head to toe. He grinned.

“Yer brawny for a black chick. An’ what’s with the stick yer carryin’? Gonna poke a herd to death with a tooth pick?”

A groan from T-Dog was accompanied by Daryl’s dry “An’ that’s my charmin’ brother Merle.”

“Merle, shut up,” Rick said conversationally. He turned to Michonne. “Every group needs one loudmouth, so we have Merle here for that purpose. Feel free to show him the error of his ways if the rants get out of hand. He’s Daryl’s brother though, so the katana might be just a bit much.”

A corner of Michonne’s mouth twitched and her eyes lost a bit of the suspicious gleam and gained a smidgen of mirth. 

Merle’s eyebrows had shot upwards at the word ‘katana’. Daryl chuckled at the shifting expressions on his brother’s face. Merle obviously waged a battle against the instinctive need to probe and quip and test the mettle of this stranger, but he also had a healthy respect for a sharp blade and a distinct aversion to losing another hand.

Lori pushed herself up from the couch and walked to Michonne with an extended hand. 

“I’m Lori. Sorry about that,” she nodded at Merle. “Daryl said you’d join us for a meal. Please excuse the frosty welcome -- we’re not exactly used to inviting strangers like this, but Rick and Daryl think you’re worth it, so… Welcome.”

The other woman hesitated but shook Lori’s hand. “Thank you,” she said with a polite tone.

A general shaking of hands ensued. Michonne looked a bit overwhelmed by the surge of people around her. Rick felt how her senses prickled and how she fought to remain calm, not to trigger a panic response -- fight or flight. _She’s been alone for too long,_ he thought. _And when she wasn’t, maybe they weren’t the best people to be with._

Beth had vanished to the kitchen. They heard her yell, “Someone set the table! The stew’s ready!”

Maggie took charge, and soon Glenn and Carl were fetching plates and glasses, and Maggie clinked the silverware on the table. Michonne watched the bustle and winced at the bangs and the clinks a few times. Rick saw Daryl observe her, then stroll to her and talk in low voice. He didn’t hear what the man said; something made her shoulders relax, though, and then they were talking, just a few sentences, for a few minutes, but it made a difference. Michonne’s gaze started to be less a suspicious glower, and more just about observation.

***

A few hours later, Rick was undressing for the night. He thought about the meal. Lori had played the hostess with her usual ease, and Hershel was invariably polite and gentlemanlike. Beth was always sweet, and Carl had lots of questions. The others kept mostly quiet, and Michonne seemed to be out of practice with talking -- and who knew, maybe she was taciturn by nature to begin with -- so it had been somewhat awkward.

Afterwards, they’d lounged on the porch and enjoyed the fair April evening. For a time, Carl practised with the crossbow under Daryl’s supervision -- he wasn’t half bad at it, he was accurate but he needed work with the speed of handling the weapon. Michonne seemed to be most at ease with Lori. Maybe she thought a pregnant woman was the least likely to attack her. They sat on the porch swing and talked with low voices. Well, mostly it was Lori who talked, but the other woman kept answering her questions, and a few times even volunteered a few sentences.

When darkness fell, Rick offered Michonne one of the spare bedrooms.

“Thank you, but no,” she said, and gave no explanation. Judging by her uncomfortable, stiff stance, the food and conversations hadn’t yet made her relaxed enough to sleep under the same roof, confined in a room, surrounded by strangers, and expected to give in to the defenceless state of slumber. 

Rick couldn’t blame her. _Trust_ didn’t go well with _apocalypse_.

He fell on the bed and stretched. Maybe he should take a shower? Mmm… maybe he could persuade Daryl to join him when he returned? 

He listened to the voices downstairs; Glenn, Maggie and Beth were still in the living room, playing poker of all things, probably with Merle. Thank God they were only playing for matches or pencils or whatever they’d found in the house. Rick shuddered to think of other variations of poker in conjunction with Merle and his lewd grin. Ewwww….! Well, luckily the older Dixon knew better than to even suggest any such thing. In a household inhabited by the likes of Carol or Maggie, castration was always a valid option -- and Merle knew it wasn’t a joke either.

Michonne had decided to bunk in the garage. It was dry and warm -- and separate from the main building. “Best I’ve had in months,” she’d said, and looked genuinely content.

Rick closed his eyes for a moment and tried to imagine having a new member in the group. It had been just them ever since the farm. Well, Merle of course, but he wasn’t new as such, he was Daryl’s brother, and the Atlanta people had known him for weeks before the rooftop incident. It felt really weird, wrong even-

The door opened, and Rick opened his eyes on the vision of dirt and beauty that was Daryl, fresh back from an evening hunt with Carol. There was a streak of blood on his cheek, and the bare arms were covered in mud. Rick’s dick twitched with interest. _My man_ , he thought, amused at himself. _What can I say -- I think he’s hot as hell._

Daryl’s eyes flitted to the lower regions of Rick’s body and his eyebrow quirked. “Really? This is what gets ya goin’? Why do I even bother with showers or clean clothes…”

Rick laughed and sat up. “Did you catch anything?”

Daryl nodded, and started to untie his boots. “A few rabbits. Carol’s gettin’ good at trackin’,” he said pointedly.

Rick grinned and wagged his eyebrows. “What with the new motivational rewards, I’ll get real good real quick.”

The tough hunter flushed, but the smile he gave Rick wasn’t at all shy. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,” he smirked. He went on more seriously, “How’re things here? Michonne still around, or did we manage to scare her away already?”

Rick watched him undress and it took some effort to concentrate on group matters.

“Mmhm… No, she’s staying at least until tomorrow. It’s hard to get a read on her, but I don’t get crazy vibes from her. She’s just...wary, and extremely restrained. Probably with good reason, too. Carol say anything?”

“Nah, not much. Says she needs to watch her some more before she’s ready to give a verdict. Ya got a chance to talk with others?”

“Lori says she’s got potential. In fact, nobody’s said anything bad -- yet. Suspicion goes both ways I guess, let’s see how things go tomorrow. I wouldn’t be surprised if she left, though...I got a feeling she’s been disappointed too many times to take another risk. I could be wrong, wouldn’t be the first time…”

Daryl didn’t say anything. He looked thoughtful as he was stripping his pants.

“You regret we brought her?” Rick asked, frowning.

“No, ‘s not that… Like I said, I’ve got a good feelin’ about her… It’s just, y’know, a _new_ thing. We got it nice now…” Daryl’s voice trailed off and the flush reached the tips of his ears.

And then Rick got it. Michonne was a change, a potential disturbance in the force, so to speak. Something to threaten the dynamics of their family, possibly even break it in some way. Rick knew Daryl’d never had much of a family to speak of, and this past half a year had been….

Rick didn’t even have a word for it. He had no earthly idea how it felt to _not_ have a loving family -- he couldn’t claim to know how Daryl felt. Rick couldn’t truly understand the depth of Daryl’s fear of losing the thing he’d finally found -- of losing it to walkers, or hostiles, or even to potentially really good people like Michonne. 

Rick’s heart ached for his friend, his lover, his life partner. _For_ _my goddamn_ ** _soulmate_** _, if you want to go all mushy and sentimental about it_ , he thought, and didn’t even blush. _Geez, I got it bad for this guy..._

He stood up and wrapped his arms around the hunter. 

“ _If_ she wants to stay, _if_ we decide to let her...Daryl, our family can handle it. Our hearts are big enough for one more. Y’know, some good ol’ family values. We take care of our own, and I won’t let anything threaten that.”

Daryl pulled back a little to look at Rick. “Them family values…not so sure about those. They ain’t always been kind to the likes of me. Or _us_.”

“That’s never been the way I see them. Family is acceptance and love and support, and it’s not determined by blood. And that thing you mean… well, that’s the past. This is the brave new world,” Rick gave him a tiny smile, “and we get to decide what those values mean.”

He rubbed Daryl’s naked back and gave him a quick kiss. “Let’s shower, honey. Let’s wash the rabbit blood off of you.”

His worries a tiny bit eased, Daryl snickered. “Kinky!”

“Jesus… you’re...Fuck! For that you deserve-” And Rick proceeded to pinch Daryl’s butt, and dragged him to the bathroom muttering, “I’ll show you kinky…”

***

As it turned out, Michonne had not bolted during the night. In the morning, she knocked on the front door and stepped inside -- her back straight, her face inscrutable. And yet, it didn’t take Daryl’s uncanny abilities, Rick noticed it well enough on his own: she didn’t quite know what to do, what to make of this, how to handle the terrifying _normalcy_ of Carol baking a bread, of Glenn busily pouring tea to Maggie’s cup, of Carl lounging on the armchair reading a book. Granted, there were chinks in the normalcy -- Andrea and Merle cleaning their guns at the dining table while they were munching on something that resembled jerky, and the book Carl was reading wasn’t a light young adult scifi novel but a hefty hardback on mechanical engineering. But still. 

Rick saw the uncertainty in everything she did: the way her eyes darted around, the way her muscles flexed, the way she didn’t know if she was welcome to sit down or not. He could almost hear her mind screaming ‘Is this fucking _real_ _??!_ ’.

Andrea lifted her head from her work for a second. “Morning, Michonne. Did you get any sleep in the garage?”

Another shocking piece of normalcy. Michonne swallowed. “It was ok.” She looked around. “Can I-”

“Yeah, sure, grab a chair, there’s still some squirrel, and the tea is alright…Glenn, get a mug for Michonne, will ya?” Maggie hollered to his boyfriend who’d gone back to the kitchen.

Michonne looked dazed. “I was going to ask if I can help… but ok, thanks, tea sounds great.” She frowned. “Where did you get tea? From what I’ve seen, the stores are pretty empty already.”

Maggie pursed her lips and huffed. “Yeah, well, we reuse the tea bags a few times… but you’re in luck, this morning we took new ones. And the last decent house we stayed in, it was a treasure hoard, and we still have a lot of the stuff we brought from there. We even have a few cans of coffee.”

“For special occasions?” Michonne ventured a smile.

Maggie smiled back. “Pretty much.” 

Rick had a brief chat with the committee that morning. They decided to give Michonne one more day. That would have to be enough for both sides to have an educated opinion: could she stay or should she go. More than two days wouldn’t change anything in any case; no use dragging this thing. In -- or out. 

Hershel went to inform her of the schedule. Later, he said that Michonne had looked pleased at the tight deadline. 

“I get the feeling she doesn’t like vague hemming an’ hawing any more than we do,” he reported, and Rick was certain he saw Hershel’s fluffy moustache flutter with a poorly restrained smile.

The day passed quietly. Michonne seemed to have zero interest in sweet-talking to get on their good side, or to ingratiate herself in any way. She did offer her help with the daily chores, and answered Carl’s questions about the katana and showed him a few moves. Beth struck a conversation about the weapon as well, and, like the day before, Michonne seemed to get along just fine with Lori. She showed little curiosity towards the group, with the exception of asking Rick how long the group had stayed together.

So, she didn’t talk much, she didn’t ask much… but she watched. Again, Rick was reminded of Daryl and the way the man had always been there, in the background, silently observing Every. Fucking. Thing. and missing nothing whatsoever.

The next morning, Rick woke up before Daryl, and had a few minutes to gather his thoughts, only to feel them scatter away when he looked at the sleeping hunter. The man looked decades younger, his sleeping face relaxed and open -- and did Daryl know how often he smiled in his sleep? 

It was a good way to start a new day. A smile crept on Rick’s face as well, and he brushed Daryl’s cheek with his knuckles.

Daryl nuzzled deeper in the pillow. “Y’know it’s creepy to watch someone sleep,” he muttered.

Rick barked a short laugh. Did _nothing_ get by this man? 

The hunter cracked an eye open and peered at Rick. “Heard ya think,” he said, amused at Rick’s surprise. 

Rick nodded slowly. “Ok, so… A might hear B if B’s certain A is completely out of range, like asleep?”

For several weeks now, they’d actively tried to test the limits of this thing they had. Tried to map the perimeters, make a rule book of sorts. It’s not like they had anyone to ask or a manual to read. It wasn’t exactly the kind of thing they could bring up at family dinner.

Daryl yawned. “Probably. Ain’t never heard ya before like this, though, so maybe there was some extra component, I dunno… but it’s a possibility. So try not to think nasty things about me when ya think I’m out of it,” he smirked. 

Rick nodded again, his face solemn. “Ok, though that means bye-bye to my usual trains of morning thought. Whatever will I think tomorrow morning. Oh, the trials of relationships…”

Daryl lifted his head just enough to bite Rick on the shoulder. “You’re in luck, ‘m too tired to do much else. But one of these days your jokes will come back to bite ya in the ass.”

Rick laughed. “Promises, promises. Ain’t nobody yet bit me in the ass.” The grin he aimed at Daryl wasn’t innocent at all.

Daryl chuckle was low and rumbling. “Ya still haven’t tracked _an’ caught_ me,” he reminded the leader, and ran his hand along Rick’s side to his hip.

“We’ll practise more. Every day. Twice a day!”

Daryl laughed, slapped Rick’s hip lightly, and flopped back on the pillow. Rick sat up and thought about the day.

“Whatcha gonna do with Michonne?” Daryl’s soft voice cut into his thoughts.

“I’d let her stay. You?” He looked back at Daryl. The man chewed on his lower lip, lost in thought. He let Rick wait for the reply for a long time.

“Ok.”

“Ok? That’s it? Ok?”

“I got no reason, alright?… just them good vibes. But if I’m right about those, then she’d be a real asset. She can handle herself, and nothin’ much seems to faze her. She’s got a brain on her, what with the walkers an’ all. An’ she’s managed to survive this whole time, most of it alone I’ve heard, an’ she’s still mostly sane. A lady like that...hell yeah, she can join the group.” Daryl gnawed on his lip some more. “Ain’t sure about the family, though...she’s so closemouthed she makes _me_ look chatty an’ that takes some doin’... We don’t know anythin’ about her, an’ that makes me nervous. Don’t really see how a person like that could be a part of the family.”

Rick nodded. He understood perfectly. “I don’t see why we couldn’t tell it to her straight up. That if she wants to be a part of us, expect us to trust her, then she has to start trusting _us_ , bit by bit. Take a chance on us like we’d take one on her.” 

He scooted off the bed, walked to the dresser to pick up some fresh underwear. “I think I’ll go ask her decision right after we’ve eaten something. If she says no, then that’s that, problem solved. But just in case she says yes… be prepared to get everyone in the living room in, say, an hour?”

***

An hour later, Michonne was out by the gate. They’d entrusted her with a short guard shift, as Rick wanted every one of the family to take part in the discussion about Michonne and her fate with the group. 

She had said yes, which had surprised Rick quite a lot. When he’d asked why, Michonne had been just as tightlipped as usual. “You seem like good people. Haven’t met many. I’ll take my chances with you.”

“Fair enough,” Rick had replied. He could’ve guessed the reason anyway, unfortunately. How was it that ‘good people’ seemed to be in such a short supply? Did apocalypse selectively kill off the nice ones, or did it just bring out the worst in the majority of survivors? Probably the latter, Rick had thought. They’d had an example of it in their own group, after all.

“If the group lets you stay, I expect you to let us get to know you. You need to tell us more in the days to come, or we will have to reconsider. I’m sorry if it sounds harsh, but you’re the first person to join us who’s totally unknown to us all.”

“I get what you mean, but from what I hear, less than eight months ago most of you didn’t know each other, either,” Michonne had countered, but without much heat. “Doesn’t seem fair, for you to expect me to lay down my life’s history.”

“I’m not aiming to be fair,” Rick had answered bluntly. “I’m looking out for my family’s best interests, now and always. A fact you may appreciate if and when you become a part of it.”

So now, here they were, sitting on chairs and armchairs and couches, perching on armrests. Hands in his pockets, Daryl leaned on the wall close to Rick. 

“...so that was what we talked,” Rick ended the summary of his discussion with Michonne. He stood in front of the group, hands on his hips. Nobody volunteered a word, they all watched him like they expected him to give the one, definitive vote on this. 

Rick huffed to himself. _Sometimes, I swear…Well, maybe ‘this is not a voice vote’ has sunk in a little too deep…_ He reminded himself this was, indeed, the first time since they left the farm that he’d asked each and every member of the group for their opinion on an issue.

“I want to hear your thoughts on this. We’ll go round an’ discuss, and then we’ll vote.” He pointed his finger to the person farthest on the left. “Maggie, you go first.”

It only took less than fifteen minutes, and the decision was unanimous: they were prepared to welcome Michonne to their group. However, with some reservations. Carol was firmly in favor of getting the woman spill a lot more beans about her life Before and After; she was especially interested in hearing how exactly she had survived on her own. “Sooner rather than later, too,” she added.

“And I want you to be present when she tells her stories,” she said to Daryl. “You have the best bullshit detector I’ve ever seen, and the way you can point out the tiniest lie is downright uncanny. You sure you weren’t a sniffer dog in some previous life?”

Rick’s eyes happened to be on Merle when Carol spoke. A whiff of genuine pride flitted fast as lightning over Merle’s impassive face. Rick almost smiled. So Merle wasn’t immune to being happy that his kid brother had recognition and value in the group. This wasn’t the first time Rick saw that same expression. It was one of the rare things that made him think it might not be _totally_ out of the question that some day he might actually not _completely_ dislike the older Dixon.

Shyly, Carl piped up a suggestion. “But what if she doesn’t talk? I mean, if she stalls, do we just wait indefinitely? I mean, if she has something to hide, y’know. Could we, like...could there be a trial period, maybe?”

Glenn nodded several times. “Like a month? That would be long enough for her to get comfortable with us an’ give us _something_. Nobody expects her to recount everything since her birth, but _something_ of who she is, where she’s from, why she’s all alone…”

Lori frowned. “I don’t like this idea. It’s horrible to feel you’re under surveillance and that your every word is catalogued and evaluated, and that there’s a frickin’ scales somewhere where your words are weighed and then someone decides if they weigh enough or not. I mean, I get why this would be important, I do… but would any of you be able to _act_ naturally under such circumstances? Maybe you’d talk, but it’s not just _words_ we’re after, we have to get to _know_ her and there’s more to knowing someone than just the stories they tell…”

A loud snort interrupted her. “This ain’t charity, lady. This is life an’ death. If she can’t handle thirty days bein’ watched by a -- ‘scuse my frank but accurate language, miss -- ,“ and Merle grinned at Beth, “by a fuckin’ bunch of lilylivered do-gooder pussies, then we don’t need that kind of a delicate flower in this group. If she cracks like a dry leaf simply ‘cause my bro here watches her with his sweet baby blue eyes and hangs on her every word for a few weeks while she gets to sip tea and sleep in a cozy house where she don’t gotta keep one eye open around the clock, then I don’t fuckin’ know what to say…!”

“That’d be a first,” muttered Carol. Daryl huffed a laugh. Merle glared at Carol but her words didn’t deter him. Merle was on a roll like a freight train.

“Y’all gave me the stink eye for weeks, an’ most of ya _knew_ me, an’ I’m Daryl’s _brother_ , for fuck’s sake… y’all watched me around the clock, just waitin’ for me to pounce on yer sorry asses. Did I cry over it? Did I bitch about it an’ bawl against Daryl’s shoulder how you’re all so unfairly inconsiderate an’ cruel towards li’l ol’ Merle?” (“Well…” Daryl muttered, and Merle threw a furious scowl at him.) “Hell no! I didn’t give a goddamn crap about y’all, my skin’s thicker than that. An’ frankly… I think hers is, too, from what I’ve seen so far.” 

He looked at Lori. “Give her a little more credit. She’s survived almost a year, one way or the other; she ain’t gonna crumble under us.”

Rick took a deep breath. This was such an unpleasant thing to do…

“Merle’s right,” he said, and rolled his eyes at Merle’s gleeful grin. “I don’t believe this is too much to ask. Even so, we can all be on our best behavior -- there’s no need to turn this into a month-long interrogation, or track her like a hound every single second.” He paused, looked down for a second, rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What am I saying… instructing you like school children? There’s nobody here who doesn’t already know what I mean. So let’s just go an’ be _human_. We’re good at that.”

***

Days passed. Michonne moved into the house; his walkers stayed in the tool shed. Three days later, Carol asked what she was going to do with them.

“Just keep them there. They might come in handy in case you reconsider my fate.”

“You could get new ones if-”

“I’ve got my reasons,” Michonne said, her voice flat and unyielding.

Rick listened to the conversation; the women were practising with their knives, throwing them at the shed wall. The knives weren’t exactly designed for the purpose but it couldn’t hurt to train anyway. 

Carol accepted the curt answer. Later, she talked about it with Rick. 

“I think those walkers...they’re people she knew. There’s a story there, I’m sure of it. Just makes me wonder about how stable she is. I mean, how healthy can it be to keep an enemy or a loved one with you like that? It’s like, like…” She swallowed, and a twitch on her cheek betrayed her emotions, “like I had kept…”

Rick put a hand on her arm. “I get it. I know. We’ll keep an eye on her. Ask her again in a few weeks. Maybe she’ll be comfortable enough to tell us by then. If not...well, we’ll see.”

Some of them got closer to her easier than others. Andrea with her blunt manner, Lori with the discreet approach -- Michonne took to both of them equally. Rick wasn’t sure if she actually _liked_ Hershel, but no-one could resist the old man’s kind conversation. Michonne still baffled Daryl but they got along well -- both of them quiet and withdrawn, doers not talkers, and Michonne seemed more relaxed with the hunter than with some of the chattier group members.

She seemed to like children, and got along like house on fire with Carl and Beth. The first time Rick saw her smile a real, unguarded smile was when she talked with Carl during their house-cleaning shift.

What took him by surprise, however, was Carl’s businesslike approach to the matter. In the evening a week later, Rick and Daryl were lounging in their bedroom. Daryl was struggling with mending his spare pants (“You can ask Carol or Lori for help, y’know.” “Fuck that, I ain’t no fuckin’ damsel in distress. I can fuckin’ skin a squirrel and repair a fuckin’ bike, it can’t be that fuckin’ impossible to mend a fuckin’ tear on my fuckin’ pants.”), and Rick was lazily wondering about a shower to drown out the barrage of swearwords the love of his life was spouting, when there was a knock on the door.

“Yeah?”

Carl stepped in. He glanced at the fuming hunter. With effort, Daryl shut up and contented himself with giving dirty looks at the needle and thread.

“I’ve been spending time with Michonne…”

“And?” Rick and Daryl prompted at the same time.

“I think she’s ok. Well, no, not _okay_...I think she’s lost a child, dad, ‘s just a feeling I get, an’ Beth, she thinks the same. It’s just some things she’d said, or not _said_ , but the _way_ she’s talked…” Carl frowned. “I’m not telling this very well,” he said, obviously annoyed with himself.

“Nah, you’re doin’ great, kid. Go on.”

“It’s like, like a puzzle we’ve been piecing together, me an’ Beth. Michonne seems to like us, she’s less careful with her words with us, y’know. ‘cause we’re kids, I think. So we’ve tried to spend as much time with her as possible.”

“Man, that’s cold. An’ cunning,” Daryl said, amused. “Don’t get me wrong, kiddo, I totally approve. Did ya come by this yourself or did Carol put ya up to it?”

Carl looked affronted. “Of course we thought of this ourselves. What do you take us for?”

“The last I looked, you’re barely out of your diapers, so…”

The boy saw the teasing quirk on Daryl’s lips, and rolled his eyes to his father. “Dad, you know your boyfriend’s horrible, right?”

Rick chuckled. “Ok, Carl, go on.”

Carl got serious again. “We think those walkers have something to do with her kid. Dunno what exactly, and it isn’t something we want to ask either. It’s just… I know it worries Carol but we don’t think Michonne’s crazy or anything, just because she drags them along. It’s a great camouflage, for one, and she’s just been alone with them for too long. If she can stay with us… we think it’ll make a difference.”

Rick rubbed his short beard and thought for a while.

“Ok. Anything else?”

“Not really. Oh, the sword, yeah… she said nobody taught her. She found it, back at the beginning, and just...y’know, learned by doing.” Carl grinned. “She’s cool. We like her.”

“You an’ Beth? The dynamic duo? The intrepid infan...sorry, teenagers?”

Carl stuck his tongue out at Daryl. “You just concentrate on your embroidery,” he retorted, and Daryl barked a laugh at the boy’s irreverent quip. He turned to Rick.

“Permission to ground that cheeky kid until the end of times?”

Rick’s eyes were crinkled in smile. “Permission granted. I’d do some groveling right about now if I were you, Carl.”

In a more serious tone, he went on. “Thanks, Carl. Good job. Be nice to her, ok? If you’re right about… yeah, be nice to her.”

Carl nodded, all joking vanished from his eyes. “Sure, dad.” He took a few steps to his dad and gave him a hug. “Good night, dad.”

He skipped over to Daryl and hugged him as well. Rick saw them exchange a few quiet words and hug some more. It made his heart flutter happily; it always did, seeing Daryl and Carl get along like that. When Carl left and closed the door behind him, Rick turned to Daryl to talk some more about what Carl had told them. 

Daryl stared at the door, his eyes huge. Rick frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.”

“What’s with the face then?”

Daryl’s gaze traveled slowly to Rick. “That kid of yours...ya know what he said just now?”

Rick groaned. “Oh God… I’m sorry, Daryl… he’s thirteen… he’s a good kid but his jokes can go too far sometimes… his mouth works faster than his mind… I’ll get him back in here, he’ll apologize…”

Now it was Daryl who frowned. “What’re ya on about? ‘s nothin’ like that.”

“Oh thank fuck... So, what then?”

“Pretty much like ya said. He said he’s sorry, he didn’t mean to mouth off… He didn’t need to apologize, y’know, we were just jokin’ around an’ I know it an’ he knows it an’ I said so to him, so we’re good.”

Rick waited. The hunter searched for words, and Rick didn’t know what to think when he saw tears well up in those blue eyes.

“He said ‘I love you Daryl’. Can ya believe that kid, Rick?” He let out a shaky laugh.

***

“How’s the supply situation?” Andrea asked one morning almost two weeks later. 

Lori grimaced, not to Andrea but to herself. She sat gingerly down and rubbed her lower back. T-Dog was on early morning watch duty which was why there was no-one to give her a proper back rub. The pregnancy was starting to get on her nerves.

“Asking about it every morning won’t change it, and you know it,” she answered peevishly. She bit her lip and sighed. “Sorry Andrea, not your fault.”

Rick and Daryl glanced at each other and held one of their silent dialogues. 

Rick sighed. “We’ve been here five weeks or so. It’s a wonder we’ve lasted this long with the stuff we took with us and with what Daryl an’ Carol have managed to hunt. We’ve got to risk a supply run. Daryl an’ I’ve been talking about it, and we’ll go the day after tomorrow. Hershel’s been staring at the maps and he’s pretty sure he knows exactly where we are. We’ll head north, there should be a few houses there not so far from here.”

“You and Daryl...who else?” Beth asked, her young face hopeful. Rick smiled at her and listened to Daryl’s amused voice in his head.

“Would misses Greene care to join us?”

Maggie smirked and gave a high five to her little sister.

It’d been a while since they had made a longer run, so the dinner table discussion was mostly about the coming trip. Michonne still didn’t participate all that much, except for the listening. The others started to reminisce about past houses and the places they’d stayed in. Michonne’s soft voice came as a surprise.

“You’ve found nice places before this… What made you leave?"

Everyone had a story to tell, starting from the farm. When there finally was a lull in the chatter, Daryl sucked the rabbit grease off his fingers and summed it up.

“If we can’t defend it, we can’t stay. ‘s that simple. This is the best so far.” He snorted. “It’s got a four-feet fence that Carl can hop over, an’ still it’s the best one. The fence will hold small hordes, it’ll slow down hostiles, but nothin’ more. ‘s just a matter of time until this place gives, too. Dunno what it is with findin’ a safe place, just bad luck or somethin’... we keep our eyes open but so far… yeah, this is it.”

Michonne’s stoic face reflected a flicker of surprise -- she’d probably never heard Daryl talk so much in one go.

Glenn took over. “Rick once said we need a castle with a moat, and that’s pretty much it. Towns an’ cities aren’t safe, an’ these lonely farms only go so far like Daryl said-”

“And we’ve got to think of the future,” rumbled Hershel’s calm voice. “Scavenging won’t take us very far, soon the shops will be empty of food and medicine. We need a safe place, sure, but it’s got to be large enough so that we can set up a vegetable garden. Grow potatoes and medicinal herbs. Maybe try to build a windmill, or figure out how solar panels work…”

“Like Hershel said,” Rick mused, “it should be large… not just for food production but for people as well. We found you,” he nodded at Michonne, “which means we will in time find more decent people, and they need space, too. So you see,” he gave her a small smile, “it’s not that easy. But we’re not giving up.”

Michonne’s gaze drifted from person to person; her face gave nothing away.

“Seems like you’ve thought about this a lot. Herbs an’ all…”

Lori gave her a melancholy half-smile and pat her bulging belly. “We gotta think of the future. We carry it with us.”

Rick was proud of her. She held an unknown future in her body but she seemed to have made her peace with the uncertainties and forced herself to wait for the baby with determined calm. 

Michonne chewed on her rabbit-and-bean stew for a moment. She swallowed and cleared her throat. 

“Look… I’m not sure it’s worth much but maybe it’s something you want to consider…”

Nobody said anything; several pairs of expectant eyes and curious frowns were aimed at the woman.

“Some time ago I passed by a compound. It’s got fences and walls and a lot of space. It’s also got lots an’ lots of walkers. Don’t know about people -- there could be some but I doubt it, what with the walkers circling the place... No windmill or anything as far as I could see, but otherwise… you might wanna take a look.”

“Why didn’t you stay there?” Carol asked immediately.

Michonne lifted a sarcastic eyebrow. “I’m sure I mentioned the walkers. Lots an’ lots of them. I had no reason to go there to try my luck against a hundred dead ones.”

“Just two questions,” Daryl drawled. There was no trace of hope in his voice; Rick heard it, but he agreed: they had to find out more about this. Just in case. “What an’ where?”

“A prison. Don’t know where exactly. I passed by it…” Michonne frowned and calculated silently in her mind. “...maybe three weeks before you found me.”

Maggie’s face fell. She at least still had hope which meant the disappointments were more acute. “That’s too far…”

“Nah,” Daryl said. “She’s on foot. With them walkers in tow, dodgin’ bad people an’ stuff, she can’t do much more that 10 or 15 miles a day. An’ that’s if ya moved every day.” He threw a questioning look at her. She nodded.

“You’re right, I wasn’t fast, and I didn’t move every day. And I probably didn’t walk in a straight line, either.”

“A prison, you said…” Rick thought out loud of all the things they’d have to know if they were going to even consider this. “A big one? Did it look damaged? Do you think you could find it on a map? And I know this is probably not your area of expertise, but did it look like a minimum or maximum security prison? Think of the fences, guard towers, stuff like that.”

He still couldn’t generate much enthusiasm -- they’d been disappointed enough times. But talking about it couldn’t hurt.

Exasperated, Michonne reminded them that she’d simply _passed by_ the place. She hadn’t guessed she’d be interrogated about it six weeks later. She took a deep breath, frowned and stared at her plate, thinking hard.

“A really big place. Huge. There were guard towers. At least…” She closed her eyes, trying to bring back the fleeting memories. “...three or four rows of metal fences. Hard to say which parts of the walls were just walls and which were part of the buildings. I didn’t go round the place so I don’t know how intact it is… one of the guard towers had taken a hit, I think there was a truck that had driven straight into it.”

She opened her eyes and there was an apologetic look in her eyes. “I don’t remember anything else. I could take a look at the maps. If you show me where we’re now, maybe…”

An hour later, Michonne pinpointed the prison on the map. The good news was it was only about eighty miles due south-east -- not an impossible recon trip if they risked using a car at least part of the way. 

The bad news: it was close to Woodbury. If -- and that was a big if -- they decided to try settling in the prison, only a narrow river and 25 miles would separate them from the Governor. Granted, Rick hadn’t met the man, but he had a distinct feeling he should trust Merle on this at least: the Governor wasn’t friend material. 

Daryl nibbled on the side of his thumb, stared at the map and grunted.

“Six weeks. The place can be taken by now.”

The whole of the committee was there, every one of them staring at the map and Michonne. 

“What d’you want to do, Rick?” Carol stood at his side with her arms crossed, her gray eyes serious and worried.

Rick ran his fingers through his hair once, twice. 

“I wanna sleep on it. Clear my head. Let’s first see how the supply run goes…

***

Rick had said good night and vanished to their bedroom. Daryl had followed him soon after, thinking about Michonne’s story, certain that Rick would still want to talk about it. He usually did, and Daryl didn’t mind, he liked the way Rick seemed to enjoy having him as his sounding board. Their friendship had started off that way and it had never ceased to be a large part of their relationship; it had only gained momentum as Daryl had learned to bounce his ideas off Rick as well, still amazed at the way Rick always furrowed his brow and listened carefully to what Daryl had to say. Like it _mattered_. Like it was _important_ and _relevant_.

So he was fully prepared for a dose of bedtime speculation, but one look at the tired man rubbing his temples, sprawled in their armchair, told him no, now wasn’t the time for discussions, this required something else.

Although _some_ words might help.

“Hey...honey,” he tried, and Rick did lift his eyes to meet Daryl’s and gave the hunter a small smile. So that worked, whaddyaknow. The Dixon in him wanted to let out a knee-jerk snort, but the Daryl who’d learned a thing or two about love only felt a glow of tenderness. He padded to Rick and rubbed his shoulders. 

“What’s up, darlin’?” 

Rick leaned his head on Daryl’s hand. 

“Just tired I guess. Nasty headache.”

Daryl’s eyebrow quirked. Rick never had headaches. A question was already on his lips but he bit it down: this wasn’t the time for discussions. He squeezed Rick’s shoulders, let go, and grabbed his hand and pulled him up. 

“Come on, let’s get ya to bed.” He started undressing the other man, and by the time he was pulling Rick’s pants down and ordering him to lift his frickin’ legs so that Daryl can take them pants off, the leader had lost the listless look, and a flicker of amusement brightened his eyes.

“Not that I don’t appreciate all this but-”

“Shut up, man. Let me do this. The one time ya don’t feel so good ya deserve to be pampered a little.”

The naked leader was unceremoniously tucked in, and Daryl took off his own clothes and joined his partner.

“Come here,” he said, and Rick crept close and let Daryl wrap his arm around him. Daryl pressed his lips on Rick’s temple and breathed in the scent of his hair. They were silent for a long time, and Daryl thought Rick had fallen asleep, when the man mumbled, “I don’t know what to do with the information.”

“You’ll get there. Tomorrow. Or the day after. But not now. Ya said it yourself, ya need to sleep on it. Ya got a headache, give yourself a break…”

“Yes but…” Rick wriggled, as if to sit up, and Daryl held him tighter.

“Nuh-uh. It can wait.”

Rick sighed and put his head back on Daryl’s shoulder. “Dunno how you got to be so goddamn bossy,” he grumbled, but his low voice wasn’t angry at all.

***

The next morning, Rick sat on the porch swing. He still had half an hour before his guard shift by the gate. The headache was gone but the bright May sun still hurt his eyes a little, and he rested them in the shadow of the porch. Most of the others were out as well, enjoying the warmth and the sun.

He’d slept well, and waking up to the roaming hands of his hunter had done away with the rest of the stress he’d felt last night. 

It felt silly now, the way his mind had frozen at the thought of the prison. Not the concept as such, but all of it. Coming from a relative stranger. Surrounded by walkers. Situation inside: unknown. Location… that was the problem that had triggered the headache. He’d have to balance the pros and cons -- try to see into the fuckin’ future, that’s what it really amounted to. 

Governor’s people obviously moved around, so unless they went really far -- hundreds of miles -- they might still come to blows with them. And if not them, then some other group just like them or Lenny’s people. So did it really matter if there were 25 or 250 miles between them and Woodbury? On the other hand, would it be just asking for trouble to settle there, _knowing_ the Governor was so close? On the other hand, they’d be in a fuckin’ _prison_ , maximum security by the sound of it, behind thick walls and sturdy fences. On the other hand, they’d probably have no way of knowing how badly damaged it was until they’d fought their way into it, and Michonne had said there were loads of walkers. On the other hand -- wait, just how many hands was that already? -- Michonne’s trick with the walkers might be something they could use to make getting in a bit safer. 

They had it good here. Running water, electricity -- at least for a little while longer. Until the fuel ran out for good, that is, but with prudent use, it would still last several weeks. Lori could give birth here. They had no idea if the prison had any of those conveniences left, and even if, IF, they could build something, it would take a lot of time. All they had were books and clever minds which were nothing to scoff at, but it would be just so goddamn slow to figure out how to build a fucking windmill, or scavenge solar panels. Rick could just picture them staring at the panels and wires and...Rick didn’t even know how those things worked or how you were supposed to hook them up to actually get to use the power. They’d figure it out, obviously, but would it take weeks, months, years..?

Guaranteed short-term ease or a teeny-tiny possibility of long-term permanence?

Rick closed his eyes and let the voices of his family brush over him. He tried to empty his mind, relax the mind muscles, wound tight like a coiled spring. He let his thoughts float -- maybe the answer would come to him? Forcing it, chasing it, that sure hadn’t worked yet.

From the recesses of his mind, a familiar phrase popped up unbidden -- one of them ‘old world values’ as Daryl would say. A phrase so far from their undead reality it felt dusty and brittle. 

_Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness._

Did those things even have meaning anymore? Were they really _free to live_ when the dead had them backed into a corner? Was _happiness_ a first world luxury in a world where ‘first world’ had ceased to exist, and food, security and community were the be-all and end-all?

There was no _American dream_ anymore.

Or was there?

He opened his eyes to watch the group. Granted, no-one looked exactly carefree; there was the everpresent alertness, the pricked ears, the knowledge of the stash of supplies for a week on the road they had prepared and which they kept at readiness for the inevitable disaster. And everyone carried a weapon at all times which had hardly been the norm even in the former USA. 

But there were also smiles and laughs, banter and nudges, games and hugs, friendship and romance.

Some holocaust survivor had presumably said that the ultimate freedom is the man’s right to choose his attitude. 

And that was something no-one could take away from you if you didn’t relinquish it voluntarily -- succumb to self-pity and hopeless martyrdom and wringing of hands, or give in to hatred, blaming others, lashing out. 

Rick knew the dark corners of his own mind by now. He was all too familiar with the cage he kept the monster in: sleeping, stretching, cracking its eyes open from time to time. He knew how to use it now, to harness its raw violence. But he also knew that it could rip him apart one day -- take away his hope or his humanity -- if he didn’t stay vigilant. It was a _choice_ : to give in, to succumb to hatred, or to keep fighting for…

...Not just for survival, no. But for _this_. Rick’s eyes traveled from one family member to another. Maggie, Glenn and Andrea sat on the porch playing cards -- not poker but something that seemed to require an awful lot of giggling and throwing of cards. Daryl stood with his arms crossed by Beth and Carl; the girl had started practising with Carl’s crossbow, and Carl was apparently playing the seasoned teacher, explaining, correcting her stance. Daryl’s mouth twitched; he glanced at Rick and gave him a rare grin, quicker than a lightning bolt, and Rick’s heart melted in a big gooey puddle.

This was their version of life, and liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. And Rick would fight for it to his dying breath. That was the attitude he chose -- today, tomorrow, every single day.

Which meant that he’d have to scout the prison. He’d have to check the card Michonne was waving under his nose. Jesus, it was a risk… But he’d have to take it. He was in this for the long haul. For Carl, and the baby. For the future, not just for a few weeks in the doomed comfort of this house. 

***

He was half-way through his shift when he heard someone coming from the house and turned to look. Carl was jogging towards him. 

“Dad, Daryl’s hurt. If you want you can go now, I’ll take the rest of the shift.”

The boy didn’t look too worried, so obviously it wasn’t serious. But still… “What happened? Is he ok?”

Carl pushed the brim of his hat so he could better meet his dad’s gaze. “Yeah, he’s ok. Pissed off, but ok. He tripped over the training swords so _don’t_ ask about it…”

They had half a dozen wooden sticks which had the lofty name of ‘training swords’. Several of the group were fascinated by the katana, and to pass the time and maybe teach something useful, Michonne had started to spar with them. The sticks had, according to Carl, been stacked in a careless pile near the porch stairs. Daryl had been in the house at the time having a drink, and when he’d come back, talking with Glenn, he just hadn’t noticed the pile, had stepped on it while he’d hopped off the stairs, and the loose pile had crumbled under his feet.

“But he’s alright?” Rick confirmed one more time. Carl rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, dad, he’s alright. Twisted his ankle. Mostly hurt his pride, I think… But I thought you’d want to know, anyway."

Rick smiled at his son and turned to stroll back to the house. In their bedroom, he was met with a tight-lipped Hershel and a sullen hunter with a wrap around his ankle. 

“Tell him he’s not to go on the run tomorrow,” the old man snapped, brow furrowed. “He’s being bull-headed, and I’m too old to bicker with a forty-year-old man who’s acting like a four-year-old.”

“‘s just sore,” the mutinous Daryl muttered. “Ain’t broken or anythin’.”

They had one rule: nobody left on a run unless they were in perfect health. No sprained ankles, no wounds, no broken fingers, no fever. No sense going out there if you couldn’t run or fight properly. That was as good as actively _trying_ to get yourself killed.

And Daryl knew this. It had been his idea, to be exact. This was just the first time his own rule backfired like that, and the archer wasn’t being very gracious about it. 

Rick didn’t say a word, he just gave his partner a long, patient look. Daryl held his gaze brazenly for a while. 

Rick waited. If necessary, he would make this a chain of command issue, he would use his authority as the leader -- even though he rarely had to, with Daryl. He just wanted to see if the man came to his senses without being ordered to. Rick fully expected him to; Daryl might be hot-tempered, he might hate not to be involved in every scout trip or supply run -- he’d somehow taken those upon himself -- but he wasn’t stupid. He knew the rule was there for a reason.

“Fuck,” Daryl huffed finally, and averted his eyes. There was a pink tinge on the high planes of his cheekbones. 

“Fine,” he snapped. “Have it your way,” he grumbled at Hershel.

The old man still had his bushy white eyebrows knitted together, but some of the good-natured twinkle was back in his eyes. “No, dear boy -- I’m having it _your_ way, and you know it.”

Hershel nodded at Rick and left the room. Rick sat on the bed. Daryl picked at the lint on the blanket and stared at his bandaged foot.

Rick put a palm on Daryl’s thigh. “It’s just one run,” he chided the morose hunter. “I’d never forgive myself if I let you break your own rule and you got killed just because your leg couldn’t handle a fight or an escape.”

“I know,” Daryl mumbled. He looked at Rick. “But ya can’t go with just the girls.” 

Rick chuckled. “Don’t let them hear you say that.”

A tiny smile landed on the archer’s lips. “Nah, didn’t mean it like that. Just...it’s a _supply_ run, and Maggie an’ Beth don’t carry so much stuff. Ya need muscle.” He chewed on his lip; his eyes flickered here and there while he was thinking. 

“Take Merle.” He stopped, as if to listen to Rick’s objections. 

Rick didn’t make any, just tilted his head with a mild question in his eyes.

“Merle’s got muscle. He’s a mean fighter, an’ he can track.” Daryl gave a tense look at Rick.

“I guess it’s okay,” Rick finally said.

“What, ya ain’t gonna argue about this?”

Rick shrugged. “It makes sense, what you said. He’s not exactly my favorite person but it’s been two months. I’ve kinda got used to him. He hasn’t tried to rile me up for a few weeks now so I think we can manage one itty-bitty run.” He glided his hand back and forth on Daryl’s thigh and leaned over to kiss him on the mouth. “You can lounge in the living room and boss people around, have them bring you tea and sandwiches,” he said when he pulled back.

“Carol would just kick my ass. I ain’t crazy, man.”

***

Merle took the news of a run with Rick and the Greene girls surprisingly well. He only rolled his eyes once and snorted twice. Rick didn’t exactly look forward to working that closely with Merle, but the man was a member of his group the same as the others, and Rick was the leader of every one of them. He had to get along with them all -- separately and as a group. There weren’t enough people in his group to give him the luxury of avoiding one of them. _Especially as it was Daryl’s frickin’ brother_ , Rick thought moodily. He calmed himself down. It made sense to do this. Merle was a strong fighter; one of these days Rick might be glad they had tested their ability to work together on something so relatively harmless as a supply run.

Rick helped Daryl back to bed in the evening. The man tried to grumble but Rick shushed him with a kiss. 

“I ain’t no invalid,” the hunter mumbled.

“Listen, I’m an expert on leg injuries,” Rick reminded him. “Remember when I twisted my ankle, a few weeks after the farm? Remember how it took me two goddamn weeks to get it back to normal, just because I was too fuckin’ stubborn to let it rest as much as possible. You want that?”

Daryl glared at him but sat on the bed to wiggle off his clothes. Rick shook his head and laughed. 

“You’re an awful patient, you know that? A frickin’ menace to doctors an’ nurses everywhere.”

The archer snorted and slid under the blankets. Rick undressed as well and lay down on his side, propped on his elbow. He ran a slow finger over Daryl’s eyebrow. He liked the shape of them. His thumb followed the line of Daryl’s top lip. He liked the shape of that, too. But then, he liked every shape and curve on his partner’s body. 

“What?” the hunter asked, lifted his hand and brushed back a dark curl that had strayed from its fellow curls, daring to tickle Rick’s forehead. Rick couldn’t help but smile at the small tender touch.

“Nothing. Just...seems you’ve had a bad day. I thought I might make it better. So that you sleep well, y’know. Heal faster an’ stuff.”

“What, we gonna play doctor?” A smile tugged at Daryl’s mouth; it grew to a grin that creased the corners of his eyes and revealed a set of white teeth and sharp canines. Rick’s mouth was suddenly dry. _Jesus, this man…_

He swallowed. “See, you feel better already. Now, relax. Doctor’s orders.”

His hand wandered down Daryl’s chest and his lips followed suit. Daryl’s breath hitched as Rick bit lightly on his nipple. Rick smiled and continued kissing his way down.

***

It would take maybe three hours to get to the houses on foot. Cars made noise and anyway, the group wanted to save fuel for emergencies. _And for the recon trip to the prison_ , Rick thought as they walked across a field which had probably been a pasture at some point, judging by the half-eaten, decomposed cow carcasses. _Maybe next week. Or the week after. There’s no immediate rush, after all._

They’d been on the road for two hours and were passing through a patch of woods. There was a clearing where they stopped for a few minutes to rest. It had been a quiet walk -- Maggie and Beth had chatted a bit with low voices, but Rick and Merle had precious little to talk about, and neither seemed to feel the need to fill the air with forced chitchat.

Merle didn’t even seem to realize there was anything odd with the situation as he started to fumble with his belt and zipper. Rick heard Maggie’s weary groan. 

“Really? Really, Merle? Because it’s just so hard to take a few steps and go relieve yourself behind those trees?”

“What? ‘s a natural thing! Gotta take a leak. That offend yer fine feelings?”

“Oh come on, Merle,” Rick said and rolled his eyes. “Don’t be an ass. Girls, d’you need to go?”

Maggie shrugged but Beth grimaced and nodded her head. 

“Okay then, you go to that side, and me an’ Merle, we go to the other side. Be careful, watch your backs. It’s nice an’ quiet here but you never know.”

Maggie stood up and swang her rifle on her back. “Sure, Rick. Right back at ya,” and winked at their leader.

Merle had already ambled behind the treeline; Rick walked after him, and after a few dozen yards he had the older Dixon in his sights at a discreet distance. They did their business, and Rick was just about to turn back towards the clearing, when he saw Merle beckon him. 

When he got to Merle, the man pointed down. Puzzled, Rick eyed the ground. 

“What am I supposed to be looking at?”

Merle gave a dramatic sigh. “Oh dear Lord, how he puts up with ya is anybody’s guess… ‘what am I supposed to be…’ Jesus!” He exhaled hard. “Just _look_. I know he’s been teachin’ ya.”

Rick felt an uncomfortable heat on his cheeks, and looked again. This time, he noticed the tracks. Thank God -- or Daryl, to be exact -- he recognized them just fine.

“Two deer.”

Merle grunted a yes. “They’re fresh. Let’s see if they’re still close. Just a few minutes,” he added, when he saw Rick starting to frown. “We won’t go far. But if they’re still around, we might get a gourmet lunch. I’m sure the girls would forgive a few minutes’ wait if we bring them steaks.” Merle’s grin was the first genuine smile Rick had ever seen on him. Funnily enough, it felt almost false, to see Merle smile without a trace of scorn, sneer, or leer.

“Fine.”

Rick did his best to walk quietly as they followed the tracks. They’d been at it for only a minute, when short screams froze them up. They twirled around, all thoughts about deer steaks immediately forgotten. It was silent for a moment. Then another scream reached them and jolted them in action and they started to backtrack to the clearing as fast as they could. Rick had never been happier for all those lessons Daryl had given him about how to tread quietly. He still was shit at it, but he was better than he’d been six months ago.

As they came closer to the clearing, they started to hear voices. Beth’s tense, scared voice. Maggie’s angry, demanding voice. And gruff voices they didn’t recognize, talking in tones Rick didn’t find agreeable at all. 

The two men crept closer to the treeline; they had to see what was going on.

There were four strangers in the clearing, all men in their thirties and forties, all with rifles, sidearms, knives. All with faces Rick would’ve distrusted instantly, even without the scene he was watching. 

The men were pacing around the girls who stood side by side, unarmed, facing the side of the clearing where Rick and Merle were hiding. Rick recognized Beth’s stance, it was her meek-and-mild one, and Rick almost smiled at the spunky teenager. 

Maggie’s cheek was flaming red and blood trickled from a small wound on her jawline. It hadn’t tamed her temper any, though. Her voice was unnecessarily loud as she cursed at the men. 

_Bless her, she’s trying her best to alert us._

As a thank you for her bravery, she received another hard slap on her face. Beth gripped her just in time to stop her from dropping on her knees.

“Shut up,” snarled one of the men, a hard-faced bald guy. From the way the others looked at him, he was the team leader of this group.

Another man stepped behind Beth and grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. Beth whimpered in pain and disgust, as the man nuzzled his neck. A third man snatched Maggie’s arm just as she was trying to kick the second man in the crotch.

“Don’t you fuckin’ touch my sister!” she shouted, enraged.

“Shut up! Don’t make me say it again!” snapped the leader.

The man sniffing Beth’s neck had his hand on her waist. “How about a li’l taste, hunh, boss? I like this one.”

The leader barked a laugh. “I like her too, but I guess there’s enough to go round?”

The fourth man tried to voice a half-hearted objection. “Hey… you know Gov don’t like that shit.” 

The man holding Beth sniggered. “Aww man, they won’t tell. They don’t if they know what’s good for them. Come on man, just a li’l fun...” 

Rick had never been more glad that Daryl hadn’t come with them this time. He would’ve gone off like a grenade. Rick noticed his own hands shaking, and realized he wasn’t much better off. Merle huffed and whispered, “Too bad, I kinda liked those guys.” 

“What!” Rick spat the word. He’d always thought his opinion on Merle couldn’t get any lower than it had been on the Atlanta rooftop. Well, seems like he’d been wrong. This, he couldn’t tell this shit to Daryl, no way in hell, it’d break his heart to know this was the sort of men his brother liked.

Merle’s answering hiss was indignant. “What ‘what’? Sure I liked them. Before! Didn’t know they were into _this_ , did I? What do ya take me for, Grimes? I ain’t never had to take by force, lemme tell ya. Them ladies, they like the Dixon boys. And one of them likes them right back,” he chuckled silently, the quick laughter apparent only in the shake of his body at Rick’s side, and there was no animosity in it. 

How about that? The first time Merle had ever hinted at Daryl and Rick’s relationship without the slightest sneer.

Merle kept whispering. “The Gov don’t like that crap either. So we’ll be doin’ him a favor, really. Who knows how many times this has happened. Fuck, I’m glad my baby bro ain’t here. He _really_ don’t like shit like this…”

The leader was still talking as he circled the girls and stopped to devour Maggie’s butt with his eyes. “I’ll let you guys in on a li’l secret. The Gov likes this just fine. He just ain’t one to let everyone know. He don’t indulge often, but boy, when he does, it’s a sight to behold… the man’s a goddamn artist.”

Rick turned to look at Merle. The man’s jaw had dropped. “What the fuckin’ fuck?”

“Seems like you didn’t know everything there was to know about him,” Rick commented in a dry whisper.

“Here’s how it’s gonna go,” the same guy went on. “We’re gonna have ourselves a little fun with you girls, an’ then we’re gonna talk. Like, whatcha doin’ out here on your own? An’ if there’s more of ya? An’ then we’re gonna take ya to our cars an’ go meet the Governor. You’re just gonna love him!”

He grabbed Maggie’s arm and threw her on her knees in front of the guy who’d stopped her kick earlier. “Ya start with him. An’ keep your teeth to yourself. Meanwhile...” he strolled to Beth, “this pretty girl an’ I, we’ll get to know each other a li’l better, don’t we.”

Maggie snarled with murder in her eyes, and struggled to get back on her feet, but the leader didn’t hesitate. He snatched Beth’s arm and twisted it behind her back so hard she shrieked and stumbled on her feet. 

“Now this can go one of two ways,” the man said evenly. “There can be a lot of pain -- an’ I mean a _lot_. Or we can be civilized about this. Ya just do what you’re told, an’ there doesn’t need to be any more of them bruises. Which is it?” And he yanked Beth’s arm again, making the girl scream in pain.

Rick glanced at Merle. The man had stopped fuming; he was still as the death himself, and Rick sensed a weird kind of kinship with the man. The coldness within calmed him down, and the monster flexed its muscles and cracked its knuckles, ready to be unleashed at any moment. Rick mapped the area with his eyes, analyzed the position of the girls and the men, calculated the lines of fire.

He tapped Merle’s arm to get his attention, and pointed to the other side of the clearing. “Maggie,” he said. Merle didn’t seem to need more explanation; he nodded, and slithered away. For a second Rick followed the man with his eyes. Daryl and Merle truly were brothers -- just like his younger brother, the burly, clumsy-looking man moved silently like a wildcat, and Rick smiled a tight, cruel smile. 

The men wouldn’t know what hit them.

Rick crept a few dozen yards to the left. He and Merle had no way of communicating, of coordinating the attack, but Rick had spent enough time with Daryl to estimate how much time Merle would need to get there.

The man holding Beth had let her arm relax, but he was pushing her down now. Rick saw Beth’s face for a split second: it was a mask of pain and rage. The girls knew Rick and Merle were out there, they were biding their time just like the men were...but that didn’t mean they weren’t scared, hurt, or humiliated. 

_Those men would pay for all of that with their lives_ , Rick thought, calm as ice. He counted the seconds in his mind as Beth was forced on her knees and the leader had one hand firmly and painfully tangled in her hair while he was struggling with his belt with the other one.

The guy in front of Maggie was busily unzipping his pants, grinning in anticipation. The third man stood beside him, an avid look in his eyes. Probably couldn’t wait for his turn. The fourth man, the one who’d poked his filthy nose at Beth’s neck, had his back to Rick; his arm was already moving in a tell-tale manner, and briefly, Rick wondered whether castrating these animals first wouldn’t be a more gratifying solution.

However, the first priority was to get the girls to safety.

So, Rick stopped counting -- _ready or not, Merle, this goes no further_ \--, raised his rifle, propped the butt securely against his shoulder, breathed calmly in and out, and in and out again, and shot the leader through the head just as the beast was digging in his pants for his disgusting member. 

Like Rick had predicted, the men didn’t know what hit them. The man who’d been jerking off didn’t even have time to get his paw off his dick before his head was blown to pieces, and Merle’s shots dropped the two men who’d been harassing Maggie -- a surprisingly accurate shooting for a man who’d lost his dominant hand only less than a year ago. 

The girls stared at the corpses. They’d known to expect _something_ but still it had caught them by surprise. Blood and brain matter had splattered all over them. They scrambled up and turned their eyes on Rick and Merle as the men emerged from behind the trees.

“About time you showed up,” Maggie said. Guilt surged over Rick. He heard the anger Maggie held back, trying to cover it with flippant bad-assery. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. What else could he say? That he was sorry he and Merle had jaunted around tracking deer while the girls had been roughed up by the Governor’s beasts? Yes, he was fucking _sorry_ about that!

Merle hadn’t said a word. He approached Beth cautiously; he quirked an eyebrow and held out a hand to ask if he was allowed to come closer and check the arm Beth was cradling and which obviously caused her pain. Maggie turned to follow Rick’s eyes and watched Merle examine the arm, bend the elbow and move the shoulder to check that nothing was broken and that everything worked even if it made Beth grimace -- it still hurt.

“You’re ok,” he said, the tone somewhere between a statement and a question. Beth nodded, but then her legs gave out, she dropped to the ground, and shook violently. Maggie rushed to her sister, crouched, and wrapped her arms around the girl. Merle looked lost for a moment, unsure if he was still welcome. Beth didn’t even look at him, she just grabbed his hand and pulled him down to crouch by her as well.

Rick walked slowly to the trio. Guilt weighed heavy on his heart, but this wasn’t the time to wallow in self-recrimination. They were all shaken up by what had happened, and Beth and Maggie needed all the support Rick and Merle could give them.

He knelt down, didn’t know what to do, didn’t know if his touch would be accepted. Beth looked up at him, eyes dry, body still shaking so hard her teeth rattled. _Nerves_ , Rick thought absent-mindedly, _the after-effects of adrenaline rush_. He’d seen this Before, at work, on the field.

The girl gave him a small weak smile, forced the trembling muscles on her face to curve her lips. Rick had known Beth close to eight months now and liked her just as long, but right this second he fully understood why Carl had that giant crush on the girl, and what Daryl had seen in her all this time. The unrelenting mettle, the determination to never give up.

He glanced at Maggie, the hard lines of her mouth, the undaunted flint of her eyes, the gentle hands holding her little sister.

Maggie sighed, breathed in and out a few times in a slow, resolute way, to calm herself down, and looked at Rick. 

“You don’t have to be sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. Whatever made you stay away that long was probably the thing that saved us all. Those guys jumped us. We never heard a thing, and then they were _there_ , took our guns, and...well, I guess you saw some of it. If you’d been there, they’d just killed you first, end of story. So, don’t be sorry. We got away with a few scratches and a bruised ego,” she chuckled a small, shaky laugh, “nothing else. I shouldn’t have let them surprise us like that. And I’ve always bragged about my sharp ears. Yeah, right…”

Beth’s trembling had finally calmed down to manageable level. She nudged her sister. “Hey, stop that. My ears are just as sharp as yours, and I heard nothing either.” She looked at Rick and Merle and gave another small smile. “And if _we_ didn’t hear anything, _you_ wouldn’t have either, you old guys.” She tried out a grin. Merle played along and gave his best derisive snort.

“Goddamn rugrats givin’ me the lip…” he muttered, scrambled up and held out a hand to whomever felt inclined to take it. Beth availed herself, stood up, and Rick and Maggie followed. 

Rick helped Maggie to clean up the wound on her face and wipe out the worst of the blood and gore.

Maggie cleared her throat. “Could you...not tell Glenn about this?”

Rick lifted an eyebrow. “I need to tell him. He’s part of the committee. I can’t _not_ tell about this incident, this will effect our plans.”

Maggie chewed on this for a while. She gave a weary nod. “Ok, but… if you could keep the...details...to yourself? I don’t think he needs to know everything that happened…”

Rick tilted his head and looked carefully at the young woman. “Are you sure? Don’t you think Glenn would like to know? Just to be able to help you?”

Maggie bridled. “Stop right there. Hate to tell you, but women have a long history of dealing with this shit. I’ve met worse -- well, not the violence but the...assumptions...about how to treat women -- at frickin’ _college_ _parties_. I’m _not_ made of glass, and I _don’t_ need Glenn to start treating me like I’m about to shatter any minute. That’s not the kind of help I need. If I want to talk about this, Beth and I have each other. We have Carol, and Michonne, and Andrea, and Lori.”

Rick honestly didn’t know what to say to that. He hadn’t thought about it like that at all. 

Maggie wasn’t done yet. “And one other thing. Imagine it’d been Daryl in my place, and I’d come home to tell you about it. What would you do? Or you in Beth’s place, and Daryl would learn about it. How would you think he’d react?”

It was like someone had flipped a switch in Rick’s mind. Visions of Daryl being slapped around, pushed to the ground with some bastard’s crotch in his face… A nauseating shudder went through Rick’s body, black mist clouded his mind, and the monster didn’t just roar, it _thundered_ , it rattled the bars of its cage so hard they started to bend, it needed to _get out_ , search the lair of the beasts, claw and kill and leave no-one standing, and…

 _Oh. Right._

Maggie watched Rick’s expressions with calm satisfaction. “Get my point? I’m guessing Daryl wouldn’t take it any better? Now, do you really think we need Glenn to start planning some kind of a suicide mission to Woodbury?”

Rick studied her face. “Fine. I won’t tell the details. I won’t lie, but I guess I can just...not tell. And Maggie,” he put a firm hand on her shoulder, “remember to add me to the list of people you can talk with. You don’t have to put on a brave face for me. I was a cop for over twenty years, I know how shit can affect people if they refuse to deal with it. Doesn’t make you any less strong if you decide you need to cry on my shoulder, or kick my ass for letting this happen to you.”

Maggie frowned. “I forgot the deputy thing. Ok, true, you might’ve seen stuff.”

Merle cut in on the discussion. “Hey Officer Friendly, what now? You wanna get these chicks back to base?”

“No!” Beth rushed to intervene. “No! We’ve come this far, we can’t just turn back empty-handed. We gotta at least try to find something to take back.”

Rick stared at the corpses and a thought occurred to him. 

“They mentioned taking you to their cars. We gotta find those cars and hide them, just in case others come looking for these guys. And we could take a car and just drive to those houses, fuck caution now, we gotta act quick. We don’t know for sure if there’s more of them around, so if we want to get supplies, we don’t have time to waste an hour just to get there.”

“Good idea except we’ve no idea where their cars are.” Maggie shrugged. “So I guess that’s not gonna happen-”

“Hello!!” Merle waved his metal limb to get their attention. “Ya crazy or just idiots? Ya got a Dixon here. A _tracker_ , ya fuckin’ morons…”

Beth sniggered, but Maggie’s eyes blazed. “Oh, you better be useful to us. Don’t think I didn’t realize these guys were your _friends_.” She spat on the ground.

Rick remembered the dawning realization on Merle’s face as they’d watched the Woodbury men. Merle didn’t let his feelings show this time -- visible vulnerability wasn’t his thing. 

“Look, missy, dontcha yap about stuff ya don’t know shit about. Them scumbags ain’t never been my friends. I liked them alright back in Woodbury, but I’d never let them live if I’d known _this_. Believe what ya want, but the Dixon brothers ain’t never been big on rape.”

Maggie flicked her gaze to Rick; Merle’s reaction hadn’t been quite what she’d expected. Rick gave her a tiny nod as a confirmation of Merle’s words. Maggie bit on her lip.

“Fine,” she conceded grudgingly.

“Ok then,” Rick said. “Grab your stuff. Merle, lead on.” 

They took weapons and car keys off the bodies. Merle found the two cars easy enough; they pushed one deeper into the woods and took the second one for themselves. Rick had the map with him, so it wasn’t difficult to find the small cluster of houses, half a dozen all in all. They had to fight their way through a few dozen walkers, but after the horrors with the living earlier that day, offing the dead was almost boringly mundane. 

Three of the houses were raided clean, but the others still had a lot of useful items: foodstuff, Band-Aids, batteries, painkillers. 

They were in the last of the houses when Rick heard Maggie call him. He went up the stairs.

“Yeah?”

Maggie stood in a doorway. “It’s a nursery.” Her face was blank.

He stepped in. There were bright colors and fluffy teddybears; there were also splatters of blood, overturned furniture, and _things_ all over the crib...tiny bones, wisps of fine hair, a torn sleepsuit where Rick’s horrified eyes could still see the words Little Princess.

_Oh Jesus..._

Rick felt sick. He averted his eyes and saw why Maggie had called him. In one corner, there were three packs of diapers. He swallowed down the nausea.

“Let’s get those diapers. You check that wardrobe, I see if there’s anything useful in the dresser.”

When they got the stuff downstairs, Merle was carrying a crate of beer outside. “Good thing we have the car,” he cackled. He noticed the silence oozing from Rick and Maggie. “What? Don’t approve of a few beers, Officer?” he sneered.

“It ain’t that, Merle, please just shut up.” Rick’s stomach still felt funny; he was in no mood to tolerate Merle’s bullshit.

The older Dixon reacted to the rare ‘please’ with raised eyebrows. Maggie had the patience to give a one-word explanation.

“Nursery.”

Merle connected the dots. The diapers, the babyclothes, the small teddybear...and the sick, gloomy looks on Rick and Maggie’s face.

“Oh… Was there…?” Not even a hard-nosed redneck like Merle was quite comfortable with the idea of… Well. 

Rick nodded.

There wasn’t much chatter on the way back home.

***

As he drove back to base, Rick fought to keep his mind firmly on the subject of Woodbury and its people. Because the thing at that house… they hadn’t come across anything like that before -- a fluke of luck, obviously, and one Rick couldn’t be more grateful for.

He had plenty of time to consider the consequences of meeting the Woodbury men. So, when they drove into the yard and met with the puzzled faces of their family, Rick didn’t waste any time. He jumped out the car and strolled to meet Glenn who was walking towards the car with a smile on his face.

“Hey what’s with-”

“Go get Hershel, Daryl and Carol, and get them to the upstairs TV room. Right now.”

Glenn frowned, and tried to peek behind Rick to see Maggie. “But what-”

“Glenn, _right now_.”

The young man’s eyes flicked back to Rick. He must’ve seen something in Rick’s gaze; he shut up and nodded, and jogged back inside. Rick looked over his shoulder at Merle. 

“Unload the car. I need to go and talk about this situation.”

Merle said nothing, just nodded and beckoned Carl and Andrea to help them. 

Four sets of curious eyes met Rick in the TV room. It took him little over five minutes to recount the incident, and another five minutes to avoid giving detailed answers to Hershel and Glenn’s worried queries. 

In the short silence that followed, Rick received a question.

_“‘s that all that happened?”_

_“No,”_ was his terse reply. Daryl would get the whole story, later.

Rick took a deep breath and continued.

“Like I said, the girls are ok. A few bruises, and Maggie’s got a small cut on her face. I cleaned it up, but maybe you,” he looked at Hershel, “would like to take another look. And I’m really glad,” he turned his eyes on Daryl, “that we had a Dixon with us, otherwise we might not have found those cars, at least not so quickly. But we have to talk about what this means for our group.”

“I’m not sure I follow…” Hershel frowned, a part of his mind still with his daughters.

“That was less than ten miles,” Daryl said. “Them fuckers from Woodbury were real close. If they’ve started scoutin’ this area, it’s only a matter of time when they barge through that fence of ours. Merle said there’s dozens of fighters there; we’ve taken down four now. That’s plenty left to steamroller us.”

Rick took over.

“Exactly. An’ we can’t just lie here waiting. Lori’s over eight months now, right Hershel? We can’t just _bolt_ anymore. We can’t let ourselves get surprised. We can’t go running and just _hope_ to stumble on a pretty little cottage somewhere.”

Carol had stayed quiet, until now.

“So what are you suggesting? Michonne’s prison?”

Rick raked his fingers through his hair, stood up and paced the room. The adrenaline rush still had its claws on him, and the synapses in his brain were firing like crazy.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Maybe. Y’know, I thought about it yesterday. I made up my mind -- I’d go an’ check it out. Just in case, y’know. No rush, though, I thought, so maybe me and Michonne would go take a look next week or something. But after today… we can’t wait. The prison’s a possibility, it’s not just driving around and hoping for the best. It’s a clear-cut, straightforward, no-nonsense _possibility_ , and we’d be fools not to find out more about it.”

“First of all,” Daryl started with a tone which meant Rick was in for a lot of trouble later, “ya ain’t goin’ nowhere unless I’m comin’ too. Ya ain’t _especially_ goin’ nowhere with just Michonne. I like the lady, kinda trust her as well, but she ain’t family yet. So none of that ‘me an’ Michonne’ crap, d’ya hear?” 

The way Daryl scowled at Rick told him the man was in no frame of mind to take any backtalk.

“An’ second of all,” the hunter went on, “it ain’t a good idea for just two people to go on a recon like that. We don’t know the area, an’ it’s fuckin’ _eighty miles_ from here.”

Glenn looked as if he was about to say something but Daryl glared him down.

“An’ third… Yeah, we should go. Rick’s totally right. We gotta check it out. It either works or it doesn’t, but we gotta know. I’m thinkin’ the trip’ll take three days, max. You guys need to be real careful here but ya still got enough fighters to manage regular trouble. Woodbury comes a-knockin’... then I don’t think we three would make much of a difference anyways.”

Rick had stopped pacing. Listening to Daryl’s rumble always tended to calm him down -- even when the things the man was saying weren’t calm-inducing at all.

“While we’re gone, start packing. Just in case. Carol and Glenn, would you organize that? Hershel, you get back to those maps. We need a plan B and C and probably D as well. Take Andrea, she’s good with maps too.”

“When are you leaving?” Carol asked.

Rick considered the question for a few heartbeats.

“Two days. We can’t leave earlier, Daryl’s ankle needs to be at one hundred per cent. And we need to prepare for the trip, packin’ an’ stuff. An’ plan a route -- we’ll take the Woodbury car, the tank is almost full.”

There didn’t seem to be anything to add to that. The counter was already ticking down. One way or the other, their time in this place was coming to an end.

Later, when they lay side by side on the bed, and Rick drew lazy patterns in Daryl’s bare chest with his fingers and gave him every single detail of the run, the hunter took the news about the behavior of the Woodbury men pretty much like Rick had expected.

“Did they suffer?”

Maybe Rick should’ve disapproved of the bloodthirsty tone, but he could only think of the blood trickling down Maggie’s jaw and the way Beth was forced on her knees. By extension, he was reminded of Lenny’s intrusive touch and the leer of his men. 

“Unfortunately not.”

And if, during the following two days, Daryl went out of his way to be extra patient with Beth as he was overseeing her shooting practice, or asked Maggie if she wanted him to give her tracking lessons.... well, that was just a coincidence.

***

They’d planned a route that avoided the main roads. No way to know if that would help them avoid nasty people, but they figured that bigger, more cocksure groups wouldn’t hesitate using the wider, direct roads. Rick drove, Daryl and Michonne stared out of the side windows, armed to the teeth. Since none of them was exactly talkative, the journey passed mostly in silence. Of course, Rick and Daryl didn’t need to fill the air with noise just to convey their thoughts to each other.

The hunter’s mind had remained closed for nearly two hours, when a thought slithered in Rick’s head.

 _“We gotta do something with Woodbury, Rick.”_ There was gloom in the tone; Daryl could do the math as well as Rick. 

_“Sooner or later, yeah. I know.”_

_“How’re we gonna manage that? There’s thirteen of us -- fourteen in a month -- an’ only a dozen grown-ups.”_

Hell would freeze over before Daryl would give up, but he wasn’t an optimist, had never been one. He was a pragmatic, a realist, and didn’t think highly of either fluffy optimism or crippling pessimism. But now, his tone bordered closer to despondency than Rick had ever heard. 

It wasn’t easy to intentionally mould the tone of your thoughts, but Rick took great care to lace his silent words with as much confidence as possible. It was impossible to lie, communicating like this -- they’d tested it several times -- so Daryl would know this was what Rick truly believed. If Daryl’s faith faltered the first time in over eight months, fuck if it wasn’t Rick’s turn to help him get past it.

_“We’re smart, we’ll figure it out. If the prison works, the walls will help. If not...I’m thinking north. We’ll travel on the edges of the national forests, hopefully there’s less walkers there. We’ll try getting past the large cities of the east coast and head towards Canada. Or maybe Maine.”_

Daryl was silent for a long time; he kept his face turned away from Rick, watching out of the side window. From the corner of his eye, Rick saw how Daryl’s fingers didn’t stay still, they kept brushing the butt of his rifle. Rick couldn’t see his right hand, but if he had to guess, he’d say the hunter was chewing on the side of his thumb. An endearing tell which revealed when Daryl was either nervous, or thinking furiously. Or both.

 _“Sorry.”_ The word finally floated to Rick, accompanied by a sigh and a side-glance. _“Ya got enough on your mind without havin’ to give me goddamn pep talks.”_

Rick took his eyes off the bumpy road long enough to briefly meet Daryl’s apologetic gaze. A swift grin flashed on Rick’s face.

_“It’s what we do, darlin’.”_

***

It was slow going. A few times they had to push aside crashed cars and fallen trees, and once they noticed from afar a herd of walkers crossing the road, and gave those things a full half-hour to get out of earshot. So, it took them five hours to get to the point which Michonne had marked down on the map. They left the car and hid it behind a thicket, and dove into the woods.

“I remembered that bridge,” Michonne said, and pointed at a stone bridge a hundred yards from where they’d ditched the car. “There’s railroad tracks maybe an hour away, I was walking along those when I saw the prison. We find the tracks, we find the prison.”

If it hadn’t been the end of the world, a matter of life and death and what not, it would’ve been a lovely trek through those woods. The weather was stunning, the sky was clear, and rays of bright afternoon sunlight trickled through the trees. Birds were chirping like crazy -- it was spring, after all, and birds knew nor cared nothing of the disaster that had leveled the humankind.

And then the tracks were there. They stopped for a few minutes to have a sip of water and a can of tuna each; then Michonne pointed to the direction they needed to go. After another ten minutes or so, they heard a faint babble of water.

“There was a stream, I remember that now…” Michonne whispered. She was stoic alright, but she knew what was at stake, and even if she was new to the group, Rick knew she had started to care for them, almost as if against her will. Daryl threw a quick side-glance at her -- he’d heard the strain in her voice as well.

Soon another sound reached their ears: the familiar growl of the undead. The glanced at each other, and their steps gained urgency. The tracks had been surrounded by trees but they were reaching the edge of this batch of the woods, and they almost ran the rest of the way.

Rick took in the view. 

The compound was huge. The rays of the low-hanging sun -- creating shadows, highlighting shapes, bouncing off the gleaming metal, reflecting from the windows of the watch towers -- only emphasized the majestic size of the thing. The large outer yard, covered in grass, surrounded by a corridor of metal fences, sloped gently towards the stream. Even the dozens of walkers ambling on the yard couldn’t stop Rick having a flash of double vision: instead of the undead, he saw rows and rows of potato, carrot, cabbage, sweet corn, beans… maybe tomatoes, and a whole batch of rows for herbs. Perhaps a small greenhouse as well.

He forced the images away and returned to the reality. His gaze roamed the fences, the gates. He estimated the number of walkers on the yard, he looked at the crushed watch tower and the three other intact ones that he was able to spot from the ridge they were standing on. There was no way to see behind the high gray inner walls, but the wide-open inner gate let him have a glimpse at things shuffling around. There was a stillness about the place. It was a graveyard of moving corpses.

Something stirred in Rick. Before he had time to put the reaction into words, however, the voice of reason by his side grunted.

“We gotta see more. We can get down there an’ follow the treeline. It’ll get us at least half-way around that thing. Then we’ll just figure out how to check the rest of it.”

“You’re not thinking of getting in there?” Michonne asked.

“Nah, first we get a look-see of the outer fences an’ walls. If it’s completely broken down somewhere, there’s probably no way we can make it work anyways.”

They scoped the place for the next several hours, only stopping when it became too dark to see. The night wasn’t pleasant but at least it was fairly warm. Rick’s two-hour guard shift gave him plenty of time to think about what they had seen, but he was oddly reluctant to concentrate on the prison. Something was still stirring deep inside of him, but he needed to rein it in. They hadn’t seen it all yet.

It was noon by the time they were back on the ridge, standing on the railway tracks, watching the prison. The sky was covered in clouds now -- it would probably start raining any minute, and they were in for a miserable trudge back to the car. The gray weather made colors blur and everything look depressing; even the birds held back their twitter. The wind was picking up; the soft rustle of leaves drowned out the walker noise.

The clouds didn’t affect the prison, though: it had been just as gray yesterday. But now it had a forbidding, inhospitable feel to it which Rick shouldn’t have found thrilling, but did anyway. The compound lay there with thick walls, sturdy fences, coils of barbed wire on top of those fences. Designed to keep things in -- but just as capable of keeping things _out_. The thought covered Rick like a warm blanket.

It was a big place, it probably held an overwhelming number of walkers. But the whole point of prisons was the compartmentalization of space: blocks, corridors, everything separated by solid doors. They wouldn’t have to clear everything at one go.

He sat down on the rail and kept thinking. He felt the glances of Michonne and Daryl, but they knew to stay quiet now. 

Could it be done? Could a dozen stubborn Georgians -- a cop, a redneck archer, a vet, a pizza delivery guy, a student, a housewife, a lawyer -- storm an entire prison full of the hungry undead?

Would it be worth it? What would there be to tempt them, except the walls? _Nothing much_ , Rick had to admit to himself. Bunk beds, communal showers, impersonal prison kitchens, concrete walls, concrete floors, unyielding bars everywhere. It would take years to make the place comfortable and cozy. Years to make gardens profitable, or solar panels or windmills steadily feed electricity into the systems to give them light and warmth and running water.

Rick rubbed the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes for a second, then continued to watch the compound and the stumbling walkers.

It would take months and years of grueling work to make this place half as comfortable as the house they were now staying in. 

The thing stirring in his belly was getting impatient. Like a fuckin’ cartoon character, it jumped up an’ down to attract his attention. Years, it screamed. Years!!

It would take years to do all of it, yes. But here was the thing: this place would _give_ them those years. Behind these fences they could build a life. A community that could last years and years.

The cartoon character clapped its hands but it wasn’t done yet. You know, it whispered. You _know_.

Weeks ago, Rick had been frustrated and worried about their future. The words he’d said to Daryl had been twisting in his heart ever since he first saw the compound: “I don’t know what I’m waiting for. I don’t know what I’m looking for. I think… I think I’ll know when I see it.”

_Now I know._

He stood up, took a few steps to Michonne, and took the woman completely by surprise with a quick wordless hug. Then he turned to Daryl, his indomitable archer, and he was even more certain about this. The two of them, together, taking care of their family -- they could do this. Hope fluttered in his heart, and this time he let it.

He reached Daryl and cupped his face in his palms and kissed him. Rick knew his mind was wide open to his partner and he gave a gentle _push_ and sent out a whole barrage of feelings and visions and ideas.

Daryl pulled back and looked carefully into Rick’s eyes. Rick didn’t sense resistance; he felt Daryl sort through the jumbled mess of Rick’s thoughts, give them a brief scrutiny, flip through them like a goddamn speed-reading genius.

Finally, the hunter seemed to have seen enough. 

“You sure?” he confirmed.

Rick felt a smile spread on his face, and he nodded.

“It’s perfect.” 

**_*****The End*****_ **

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I checked: I started writing this thing 31st January. Feels funny/weird/sad to think it's over. Now what am I supposed to do with my life :D 
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


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